Midnight Sun - The Enslaved
by WavorlySterling
Summary: In this alternate universe, Bella isn't as submissive, and Edward isn't as sweet or innocent. A vampire's bite is deadly, and humans are endangered. Bella Swan is a blood supply slave to her master, and savior, in the Stratocracy of Volterra, and all she wants is freedom. Or, so she thinks... until her reserved, yet receptive master Lord Edward Cullen takes interest in her.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! I hope you enjoy this story I've been working on.  
This one is close to my heart, and is very much AU.  
Please feel free to review. I would love feedback!

Cheers!

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_In an parallel universe of fantasy, Edward isn't as innocent or sweet, and Bella isn't as submissive. In this universe, Bella desires escape from her bloodthirsty captors, and her owner—Lord Edward Cullen._

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CHAPTER 1

I count everything again, almost obsessively. Rope. Hooks. Ointment. Arument cloths. Six scrap metal knives. Bread and water for the next three days. My chest is still tight as a reluctant sigh passes my lips. This is it for me. The last chance I have to reclaim what's left of _my _life.

The cool, night air is already starting to give way to the spring's warmth. The heat passes through the rips of my spent tunic, relieving my goosebump-afflicted skin. Sunrise will soon be upon Nightingale and its stifling walls. A new dawn rising over the same cage, over the same shriveling hope for a new world. I rub my eyes, not wanting to start. The hardest thing to do is start. Nevertheless, I force the rucksack over my shoulder, stand, and carefully calculate my direction before taking off into a sprint.

Running is something I've managed to enjoy during the _blood-conditioning _periods, but now… it's a run for my life. I have to go faster, perform better at an utterly exhaustive pace to make it to the walls on time. Still, it should work.

_God, I hope it works._

When I first started mapping out this escape plan six months ago, I never actually thought I would make it this far; blood pumping, stumbling through the forest, too early to be allowed out of bed, and too far off the beaten path between the dorms and the school to have a good enough excuse as to why.

_If I get caught, I could maybe convince them that I just like to run. But really, who would believe that?_

Should be another fifteen minutes at this deathly pace before I reach the Eastern Wall. My dirtied, bare feet pound the earth almost soundlessly as I dodge sticks and leaves. Here, stealth is the difference between life and death.

The tiny anklet that I made out of twine and steel—back when I first arrived at this hell—whips my skin softly in sync with my breaths, reminding me why I never stopped fighting for this moment. Because the day I made the silly thing, was the day that I lost all hope in _him _to secure my future. The day I decided I would never be like the rest of the humans here.

An endless whirl of gray and yellow aspens fill and flee my vision as I weave between their spindly bodies. The forest floor begins to change from dark and misshapen shadows to the distinct outlines of grass, rocks, and bushes. Although it kills me, I speed up my pace.

_Snap!_

A breaking branch to my left.

Skidding to a halt and falling to a crouch, I say a silent prayer.

_Don't move. Control your heart. Force down the reaction._

I apply everything I'd learned from _before _about Essence Dissonance—a defense mechanism that allows a human to remain hidden from _highly sensitive predators _by controlling their body's natural responses to fear. I'm pretty good at it because I'm the only human getting herself into situations where it's needed.

I listen and wait. The sound was one of its kind and now only silence remains, worrying me more than it should. My knuckles are almost white as an albino squirrel when a red-breasted robin darts out of the brush. It stops after a few hops to look up at me before scavenging for a worm. I refrain from letting out a snort as I start to run again, willing the adrenaline from the bird encounter to seep out of my pores. A few more minutes and I'll be at the wall. That much closer to freedom.

A thousand demons release me from their noxious grips as I arrive at the forest edge.

_God is on my side._

No one is around, as I hoped… and expected. Through my forbidden research at the school, I learned that once a month the Eastern section of the wall is left unguarded, but only for about thirty minutes at sunrise in order to tally up the energy stored from the solar panels. The panels line every part of the wall and provide what little electricity that we _do_ get at the school, although most of it goes to pampering the offices of the professors since humans aren't exactly the priority around here—or anywhere.

I kneel at the forest brink. All that lies before me is freshly trimmed grass and a massive wall made of brick and mortar. A vermillion light catches my eye off of the top corner of a solar panel. The sun is rising. I push off from the ground and sprint for the wall. Like wine-stained cotton, if anyone were around they would see me, plain as day. It would be over. My bright red tunic was not made to blend in with the budding grasses of Volturi's spring. When I hit the wall, I flatten myself against it. Breathe it in. Listen to my surroundings.

Nothing.

I recoup before quickly going to work unraveling the rope and fastening the grappling hooks. I propel the hook upward with well-practiced precision. The rope loops several times around the titanium arm before the hook snags its lip—releasing a stagnant breath from my lungs. I finish by tying the loose end around my waist.

Looking up with determination, I leap and latch on, positioning my feet against the bricks. I trained for this. During the recreation periods when everyone else would sew or paint in an effort to eventually please their masters, I would train, run, make weapons. Something much more worthwhile, in my opinion.

We were only allowed this free time so as to perpetuate a feeling of happiness, which apparently increases our overall blood quality. Thus, the term, _blood-conditioning_. Not complaining though, I loved making knives and dreaming of a day when I could finally use them.

I reach the metallic arm of the panel and hoist myself over it with ease, my rucksack hanging off my shoulders. The girth of the panel presses uncomfortably into my back until I shuffle out from underneath its plane. The edge of the wall now looms only inches above my head, so very close, and I rest a moment to try to stifle the building anxiety.

_I'm almost there. _

My elbows and shoulders send my body over it with ease, and I land in a squat on the dirt-ridden walkway on top of the wall. Cautiously, I stand. Small barrels and crates, used for sitting and slacking off, line both edges with half-consumed synthetic packs resting upon them. I find the horizon and take in, for the first time in ten years, a view that isn't obstructed by walls. The muscles tighten in my face, and one of the biggest smiles I've ever felt spreads across it, victoriously.

As I assess the plan for my descent to the other side, a strange, stinging pain emerges from the palm of my hand. I glance down and nearly double over with panic.

_Blood._

I quickly duck down, simultaneously covering the small, yet deeply drawn cut with my mouth and tongue. I curse at myself as fear festers within me.

_It must have been while climbing… on a jagged piece of stone or something. _

Trying to keep calm, I fumble through my bag for the arument cloths.

_This would happen. At the tail end, when it's this close. _  
I unroll the cloth and wrap it around my bleeding palm. Arument cloths have the godsend ability to dissipate any traceable scent of blood. Although they were mainly developed for the female students' monthly cycles, they are also able to solve these kinds of problems. I wrap it tightly, and as I think I'm safe, a deep male voice shoots out from the north.

"This way! She's on the wall!"

My heart threatens to stop.

_What? They shouldn't have been able to scent me with only this. I must have miscalculated their time away from… or, or my own time scaling the wall—_

_Wait. _

An idea forces its way through my frantic thoughts as more shouts fill my ears, closer than I could have ever imagined. I grasp a knife out of my bag and cut the rope, fastening another hook to the free end and aiming at a large tree branch on the outer side. It hooks, and I breathe again. Another shout. _Way _too close.

_They're here. _

_It's now or never. _

My fingers shake violently, tightening their hold along the chipped ledge of the wall. The earth radiates in swirls of yellow and green below, so far down that the bushes and trees are a blur of paint strokes. Stifling vignettes encompass the outer rims of my eyes as I grapple with the weight of what I'm about to do. I seriously might die.

"I found her!" A voice pierces the void, only meters away.

_No, not yet._I try to bargain with anything in the world beyond willing to listen, sweat traveling down my neck in streams. _I'm not ready. I'm not—_

The weight of their presence grows heavier, bringing with it the animosity of a plague; a terror that I take all the way down to the marrow of my bones; a seeping cold that is bristled with thousands of tiny needle-head points, sending fire along my spent arms and shoulders. It blasts its way down into my soul, threatening to obliterate every ounce of resolve that has landed me here, along these steadfast bricks, amidst my escape from the Stratocracy of Volterra—amidst my escape from the _vampires_.

"A red tunic? She must belong to _Cullen_! It'll be our heads if we lose her!" One shouts from afar—but not too terribly far, if even my human ears can sense it. Unlucky for them, I did belong to Cullen, but not anymore. My mind clears as dark anger replaces fear.

In mere seconds the vampires would scale this wall. With their inexplicable speed and inhuman reflexes, I will be dead if I don't drop now. I step out.

The hardest breath I have ever taken escapes my lips as I push off from the wall and spiral into oblivion.

_To hell with this lif_e, I decide.

I would rather die of a broken neck from this fall than be forced to sit prim and proper as a docile host.

The shrubberies below get ever closer in my spiraling plummet—a family of mesmerizing pinwheels spinning faster and faster within my vision, hypnotizing and fearless.

Suddenly, a sharp pain on my abdomen—the rope going taut—and a vicious sounding _crack! _

The rope is loose.

The branch didn't hold.

I'm falling to my death.

"Bella…" my mother's soft and celestial cries cradle me in my descent.

_Even here, I remember?_

"Bella, you must go," she said to me, crying and writhing from pain. "I can't hold it back much longer. Run."

As the brights of my eyes fade to black, I relive it. My consciousness slips and I'm there again, watching my mother suffer. Still, I wouldn't move. I wouldn't run. I wouldn't drag her down to the catacombs with me to try and save her; wouldn't turn and pick up a bloody knife to end the agony that she was to endure.

At eight years old, it was all I could do to watch without the saltiness of tears construing the last, perfect vision of her shining chocolate eyes, apple-blond hair, and her body, blanketed by a bloody shawl pinned at her breast. I watched her demise so innocently—back before I knew the wrath and ferocity of the vampires. Back before I knew, truly, what they could do to us humans. But even though I since have grown much older and wiser to their existence, much better at handling my past, it is still difficult to turn away from my mother's pleading gaze. I always try to find something different within her eyes—a new pathway into her soul, a new wrinkle to prove that she is aging with me. An elongated search for novelty to make me feel like I never lost her.

My younger self clings to her selfishness, always. Always. Never listening, never moving to aid the last loved one she would forever lose. After that moment, my mother roars a sound like the monsters from nightmares, her skin fading to the color of yellowed sickness. Then, and only then, do I run for the connecting basement. The catacombs.

The half terrified, half monstrous screams of her transformation into the _fallen_, fade behind thick, oak doors as I move farther and farther away. Her bellows are soon accompanied by the guttural laughter of the attacking vampires, and then all that's left is my ragged breaths. I knew it then, she was gone.

I find the door to the outside, like I always do, and for a brief moment all that I am is pure relief; a raw hope that rids the ice from my bones like hot water on a snowy day.

However, little do I mind the other side of the door where a lurking vampire waits for me. He grabs me after I naively open it, he shakes me, laughs at my terror as he muses how he will get my ligaments out of his teeth once he has finished draining me of blood. Everything in that moment is a blur. A disastrous blur of adrenaline and repression until my younger self is on the ground, unharmed. The decapitated head of my attacker—rolling across the dirt—beside me.

I turn, hoping to see human soldiers, Sorgan, Jacob, and the Guard of Quileute, standing victoriously over the bodies of a dozen dead vampires, only for that hope to be quickly shattered.

Another, much younger vampire stands over me. This one regally dressed in crimson robes—embellished with armor and chains, and steel fleur de lis.

"You think you can hide your dissent from a pureblood?" He speaks to the heap of flesh and guts now strewn on the ground beside me, shaking the fresh, vampire blood off of his hands.

"And you." He turns to face me, eyeing me with scorn. "Where do you think you're going?"

Later, I would learn this vampire's name. One of the most feared names in all of the Stratocracy. Lord Edward Cullen.

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Overwhelming pain pulses from the top of my head to the ends of my shoulders as I wake. Unrefined screams bounce off the pitch-black walls and pierce my ears, sending waves through my skull. I manage to roll my eyes upward, desperately trying to focus on my surroundings. Long, crisscrossing bars from top to bottom are ahead of me, surrounded by walls of bloody stone. I'm in a cell—a dungeon. Lightning strikes of pain surge through my head as the screams start up again, forcing me to throw my back against the damp and sticky stone wall. Lanterns of blue and green flicker, dancing along the shadowy corridors and flashing across my closed eyelids. Everything is singeing pain, a grating ache.

_Where am I? What is-_

Hold on. I've been here before. I recognize these howls. The Selection dungeons. A multitude of cells where they confine out-of-line supply students, and also where they keep their reserve pit of _fallen _beasts locked up in case they ever need an army of blood-thirsty super humans. I shudder thinking about them. We call the once-humans, or the humans who have been victimized by a vampire's bite, the _fallen_.

Vampires are their own species, reproducing normally, and scientifically unable to completely change the genealogy of another creature despite all of that old age folklore. However, they do have some sort of natural bacteria within the venom of their bite that causes a type of deranged transformation in humans. One that leads to a rabid, insatiable need for bloodshed, as well as strengthened senses and abilities. Their cries for blood wrack my skull.

My heart seizes within me as I suddenly remember. The throbbing across my abdomen where the rope was wrapped, the enduring headache, and the shackles binding my arms and legs indicate that I did not successfully flee Volterra.

I'm caught.

Everything I worked months for to get me to the other side of those walls was in vain. Vomit laces the back of my throat as I'm forced to acknowledge that everything is over. No more chances. My head drops in between my legs like an added weight.

That side of the wall was beautiful—the lush greenery that was undoubtedly the exact same as on the inside, was somehow brighter; full of life. My mouth twists as I latch desperately onto the memory of being on top of Nightingale's walls, feeling stronger than I ever felt before, watching a sunrise interrupted by only horizon. It was the first time I saw the sun peeking over the earth, and not the walls, since being admitted to Nightingale's School of Infantry Supply—since the day they stripped me of my name, "Bella Swan" and made me into "E29734"—since the moment that my life no longer belonged to me, but to the sovereign vampire who saved me that night ten years ago, Lord Edward Cullen.

The pounding of footsteps appear and grow closer from the passage outside of my cell.

Great. Here it comes.

I keep my head down, hoping that they will pass me and bother someone else. Too much to ask. The steps stop outside of the cell and I offer a glare to my visitor. A haughty and conceited Rosalie Hale stands in the barred doorway. She's my Supply Culture and Etiquette professor, a real Class A type of crazy who exists only to rot out my eyes and ears.

"Oh, hello." I barely manage while faking a smile. "How's your day going?"

She smiles back contemptuously but says nothing. That's a first, she's nearly always rambling on about something back at the school, as if anything they teach has any real significance. All the classes at Nightingale are a waste of time, and even the professors will admit it. One of the courses forced us to stand for an hour without making a sound, without shifting our feet, without moving our eyes. The lesson? To be as little of a nuisance as possible. Another forced us to recite Volterra's Pledge for the entire period, and yet another taught us how to speak in rhythms and frequencies most befitting to our owners' sensitive ears. All of the mundanity lends to the real purpose of Nightingale: holding onto us until we are grown enough to not die after losing one meal of blood.

I battle Hale's stare until another vampire steps out of the darkness. This one is a very light-skinned male with bright blonde hair. Unlike Hale, who dons a typical Nightingale professor's uniform, this man wears robes of black leather, silver cuff links, and long chains sporting countless fleur de lis and emblems of Volterra. A type of garb that all high messengers from the Heart of the Stratocracy wear. This is the first time I've seen one in person.

Hale sneers.

"This is the one we keep telling you about. The good-for-nothing," she says.

_Bite me_, I think to myself, only because I can't seem to find the strength to move my lips. I am sure she is able to read the response in my eyes though, because she proceeds to curve her wrinkly mouth down into a frown. It suits her better, anyway.

"The one that keeps testing Lord Cullen's authority?" The blond male asks, analyzing every part of me. "It's a wonder she's still alive, after a fall like that."

She nods. "Lord Cullen should finish the job. This is the third time she has done something like this. The second offense punishment has always been death, yet still he refuses punishment."

"Not for you to judge," the male replies.

"She's a menace," Hale says lowly. "She could have very well instilled apprehension and anger within the supply. Luckily for everyone involved, she tends to keep to herself, but how can Lord Cullen keep turning a blind eye to such? I know he is soft on his lot, but what does this say about—"

"Watch yourself," he warns. "Lord Cullen informed me that he would determine her fate at the Distribution since he is already in route for the occasion, but nevertheless we mustn't question our overlords' decisions. We are far less knowledgeable than they." He then smiles. "If you are searching for reasoning, I would say to start doing your job and keep the supply under control. Then maybe one day you will earn enough respect to be trusted with answers."

I nearly bust out laughing at Hale's crestfallen face, but stop short when I remember...

_Cullen is coming here. That's right. Tomorrow is the ceremony. _The very reason I timed my escape the way I did was so I could avoid it. And now, after all this time, I will be forced to reunite with _him _again. My savior, captor, and... _owner. _I let out an audible groan and the two vampires turn their heads toward me.

Hale growls. "I didn't bring you here so that you could scold me, Caius. I'm following procedure. Needless to say, we've never had a situation like this before."

"This is the last day you have to put up with her." His smile fades. "Then you can forget it ever happened."

Hale crosses her arms as Caius studies me with roving eyes.

"As you know, the Days of Slaughter bestowed heavy misfortune upon the human genome diversity. Across the span of its two-hundred years, many lessers of our kind destroyed our natural food supply, forcing us to protect, feed, and breed the humans, as well as develop synthetic blood under Aro's honorable law," he says. "Disposing of humans, no matter their lack of domestication, seems like sort of a waste in these trying times, don't you think?"

I raise an eyebrow as Hale bites back. "No. We dispose of troublemakers all the time for anyone footing the bill. How is this case any different?"

As much as I hate her, she's right. It's ridiculous how the elite can get rid of endangered, yet unlikable, humans at the snap of their fingers. But who can refute the claim that their army of _fallen _beasts need to eat, too? I roll my eyes at the thought and notice the fumes that might as well be coming out of Hale's pointed ears. Caius changes the pace.

"Have you not seen the rare traits that this girl possesses? In all my years spent running the Distribution—watching our most elite decide upon the fates of their investments—I have never seen a specimen quite so fair and unique. He will most likely donate her to Saya's houses after he shows her traits off to the other _four_. You know, to make a political statement in the effort for posterity and the sort."

Of course, that sounds like something a wealthy, elitist asshat who wants to look noble and generous would do. Invest in my enslavement for ten years so he can show off my weird face for ten seconds before using me as a power tool. I groan so loudly they both look at me again.

"Or, this may be the first time he sentences a human of his to death." Hale runs her tongue over her fangs while glaring at me. "First time for everything, right?"

Caius shifts his gaze back to the hall, chuckling. "Perhaps. Most humans are not so stupid as to test his limits. Either way, I have seen enough to fill out a report. Let's go."

He disappears from my sight, taking his leave back down the hall.

Hale faces me. "Unfortunately, I'll see you in Distribution Prep. With any luck, it will be the last."

I don't respond, which garners a scrunched brow of scorn from her. Eventually, much to my sight's relief, she turns to follow after Caius.

I sink into the ground. In part from the pain and in part from the disappointment. So, I'm not receiving the well-deserved death penalty today. Which would be a good thing in any other circumstance but given the unbearable pain from my falling off a huge wall... right now it's up in the air. What really gets me though, is the reason I'm being kept alive—for now, anyway. That Edward Cullen wants to show me off like some sort of trophy before he either turns me into _fallen _food or sends me to the hell that is Saya. What an _epic _purpose I serve.

I sink lower into the ground. I probably won't have another shot at escaping either. If they are smart, they'll keep me in here until Distribution Prep, and most likely monitor me all the way up until the ceremonial judgment. A sole thought forces itself through the mess.

_What if Cullen's crazy enough to take me back to his castle? To be a part of his blood supply? _My fingers clench into my palms. No, even if I manage to get into Cullen's estate, no doubt I would find a way to get out. Enslavement is still enslavement, no matter how nice the setup.

Against my will, my eyes close. Amidst the fatal uncertainty, exhaustion becomes an all-consuming force, pulling me out of my pain and anger, and drowning me in darkness. I pass out to the roars of the very beasts that could be tearing me apart tomorrow.

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Thanks for reading everyone, I will update soon if you like it?


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you're enjoying the story. :) Thanks for the reads, follows, favorites, and reviews so far!

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CHAPTER 2

My eyes open to a dim and misty, dark blue light. All around me is nothingness aside from the leather straps that bind my body to an uncomfortable metal table. My mouth is so dry I can barely speak without my voice cracking.

"H-hello?" Thirst consumes my every thought as I struggle against my restraints, though I take notice of the arument bandages that line my arms and hands. The vampires must have dressed my wounds, and probably against their will. But the pain is gone, at least. Remnants of the vampire's salve glisten where my skin meets the cloth. It seeps into wounds and reduces pain all over the body, making it seem as if I never fell off an eight-story wall.

"Ready for Distribution, aberrant?" a croaky, male voice echoes from behind.

I swivel my head and eye the black room behind me, trying to blink away the darkness like I would the vampire race, if I could.

A senile vampire with long and scraggy silver hair hobbles into my sight. His long black cloak, zipped up and with three white plus-signs stamped across the curves of its chest piece tell me that he's part of the medical class. I am in some sort of infirmary, though it's not one I have ever seen before.

"Not particularly." My strained voice construes my words. "You look about ready for a grave, though."

I cough, still terrorized by thirst. Saliva really is a blessing that I never thought I would actually acknowledge.

"Hmph," he chuckles, walking slowly over to what I assume is a supply station. "You really have quite the mouth."

I take that as a compliment.

When he comes back into sight, he is carrying a blood pack. Except, instead of blood, it is filled with water. My eyes burn with sudden and incomprehensible need as it sloshes and maneuvers in his hands. The vampire suspends a connected, bronze spout over my mouth and I lift my head up, lips quivering, agonizing over every second that passes without the sensation of quenched thirst. As he readies to release it, his hand draws back, and he laughs.

"Not very nice, am I?" he asks, and all I want to do is strangle him. "You are thinking that you need water, so why wouldn't the one in charge of keeping you alive give it to you... Yes?" His voice becomes frothy, full of amusement.

Seething, I reply, "You are mistaken. I _know _why you won't give it to me. Because you're a vampire. Heartless and cold and unable to empathize with another's suffering."

"Oh?" He laughs at me as I cough again.

"Unable to empathize, hm? Now that sounds familiar. If you think hard enough about it, humans are not so different from vampires," he states while analyzing the encased liquid in his hands. "This water that you humans need to survive… is it not something that you would kill over? Is it not something that you would drop your morals for if so little were freely given to you?"

He pauses for a millisecond granting me exactly zero seconds to answer.

"I thought so. Humans, like every other living thing, are selfish, but that is a requirement to survive. Likewise, in order for us vampires to live, we need human blood. Though here you are, telling me that we are heartless simply because we want to survive. Please, do explain."

"It's how you handle our lives that's heartless," I hiss. "You cage us and treat us like cattle so that you can use us for whatever you want. I may have it better because I belong to an elite, but once he's done with me, he'll send me off to the breeders so that I can spend the rest of my life making more miserable humans that I'll never name or know. I could never do that to anyone, human or vampire."

His large, clawed hand flies out and grabs me by the hair. I yelp, the pores of my scalp blistering from his yank as he brings his face close to mine. Smiling, he growls. "You must have come from the outside, which explains your pitiful ideologies."

His nostrils flare when I continue to eye him. "Tell me, do you truly think that if you lived a free life you would give your blood to a vampire in need? Even if it left you bed-ridden for hours, could you find yourself selfless enough to do so?"

I scowl at him and whisper, "In all honesty, I have never been granted enough freedom to indulge such a thought."

He frowns. "Well, let me assure you that you would not. To do so is simply not in your nature. Humans are prey. They only run, fight, or submit to the inevitable. And if they are unable do any of those, then they die at the hands of their predators."

I blink away his intimidation attempt. "I don't submit. I only run and fight."

He releases my hair to lift the water over my face once more.

"Your generation of humans are lucky... for your existence upon this earth is spared only because of the impending extinction of your race. You should be grateful that your masters have become less predatory and more parasitic over the last century."

With these last few words he releases the dam of the spout, letting water spill over my face. Although I'm ashamed, I open my mouth and struggle to funnel the refreshing droplets onto my tongue. They coat my very soul, breathing life into my spent body.

After about half the bag is emptied, an alarm sounds, and the vampire turns toward the faint silhouette of a door.

I only stare at the ceiling when he leaves, his words refusing to dissipate from the forefront of my mind. The blood and the water. In that moment he made them interchangeable. A need versus a need. My brows dip as I continue to stare in a daze at the blue light above me. I don't buy it, though. If vampires were not so vile and threatening, if they would leave me the hell alone after the fact—I believe I would willingly give up my blood so they could live. I think.

That being said, because of everything they've done to me thus far, because of everything they've taken away, right now I can't even imagine being nice to one.

The vampire returns, refusing me more water.

"Three hours until the Distribution, aberrant. First, you will go to the Preparation with the rest of your gender and class. Though it will be all to waste, your dormitory mothers are here to escort you."

Excitement pulses through me. I will soon be in the same room as my entire class from Nightingale. That means I will reunite with Jessica, the one person on this earth that I love more than food. She's my best friend, and the only one that I told about my escape plan, even going so far as to beg her to come with me. But Jessica was born into these walls, scouted and purchased based on potential traits and blood type when she was five years old—like most other humans in Volterra.

She couldn't understand why I wanted to leave, or why I didn't want to be the best _supply unit _I could be for my owner. I always knew Jessica and I were different in this way—mainly due to Volterra essentially brainwashing all of their human investments—but it never bothered me because it never affected our relationship. It was when I realized that the best I could ever wish for Jessica was that she wouldn't be sent to Saya's Breeding Houses until the late age of forty, that I truly lost all faith in happiness while living in the Stratocracy of Volterra. The only thing that awaits a human slave is forced reproduction, and there will never be a day where I'm okay with that.

The doctor removes my bindings from the table.

"Sit up."

I do, and he grabs the back of my neck, forcing me to stand on the marble ground. His claws dig into my skin with each hesitation as I readjust to the art of walking. He motions me by his grip to move forward. Although I can't see anything, I've learned to trust the direction in which vampires lead me. Most don't have the sense of humor to walk me straight into a wall.

We emerge from the darkness to a room with a curved, glass station. Dim lantern ropes trace the circular room, highlighting two women on either side of the edifice. Younger than most, and beautiful, the dorm mothers are female vampires that take responsibility for the supply dormitories, keeping all situations and issues that arise within them under control. They also prepare their assigned units for the _Distribution Ceremony._

The doctor pushes me forward and I take cuff-restricted steps toward the mothers, all while cursing him under my breath. I'm sure he heard me, but what can he do about it when I belong to one of the five highest-ranking officials in all of Volterra?

The scrutinizing, black-lipped beauties examine me before motioning me toward them. One leads the way, while the other floats behind. As we turn left out into the hallway, we walk in sync with several other lines of supply units, all led by their own dorm mothers. By the vaulted ceilings, intricate designs, and deviated murals upon the bronze-stone walls, I conclude that we are still in the Selection Hall. It's a southern, temple-like structure that is used only once every year for the Distribution at Nightingale.

While distracted by the designs and architecture, I manage to run myself into another supply unit. A black-haired male whose brown eyes skirt over me with surprise. My lips barely utter a quick and somewhat flustered, "Excuse me," before I trot out of the way. My heart thrums violently.

_Whoa._

I've never been that close to a male supply unit. In fact, I haven't even seen a human man since my childhood in France.

It's forbidden for the genders to mix at Nightingale, for obvious reasons, so they keep and teach us in completely separate sectors. No narcissistic, moneybag vampire wants his goods pregnant before her reproduction stage. It affects the mental health—and thus, the blood quality—of a woman when she is forced to give up her baby at birth. Loveless reproduction is something they save for later when your blood is no longer desired.

After I recover from the run-in, multiple stares and whispers capture my attention. My presence seems to be making quite the scene. Everyone else is wearing the indicative colors of their owners. All the female humans are flawless dolls in make-up, flaunting beautiful, loose and long dresses strapped with thick silver belts just under their ribs. The men's wear is similar, although theirs are more relatable to a nicer version of our standard tunics. I, by much contrast, am in an infirmary robe, and smelling about as wonderful as a dead fish. Needless to say, I'm the only one sweaty, hand-cuffed, and wrapped head to toe in arument bandages.

_Awesome. More rumors to look forward to. _Not that it matters anymore, since I'll probably be dead in about three hours. Well, I guess the _ruthless _Lord Cullen has never actually sentenced a human to the _fallen _chambers before… _but still._

We all funnel into a room. Girls on the left, boys on the right, with a raised pedestal in the center, holding upon it the biggest waste of space I ever did see—professor Rosalie Hale. She scowls at me as I walk in, and I happily return the gesture before scanning the crowd for Jessica.

She's ahead of me, talking to another supply unit and completely oblivious. I smile as I weave through the other girls and their dorm mothers, pissing my own pair off in the process. Jessica is more stunning than usual in her mauve lipstick and purple silk dress with her number printed clear as day up on it: J89165. Unlike me, Jessica was born into this world with only a number for a name. And while most humans name themselves eventually, Jessica went nameless until I insisted I give her one, myself. I finally came up with "Jessica"—the name of my favorite doll back in my home country, but I never told her that.

Jessica's petite figure, face, and dark hair has always been a distraction from her stunning personality. It has never been a wonder why she was one of the more sought after girls in our class. She always smiled, and I never could figure out how she ended up that way… being born into this hell and still being so optimistic and likable, I mean. It's her case that led me to believe that never knowing or experiencing any better is the key to true happiness.

I'm nearly nose to nose with her before she realizes that it's me.

"Bella!" she gasps, throwing her arms around me, and my day is suddenly so much brighter.

Jessica belongs to James Witherdale, another of the elitist military leaders that rule the Stratocracy. In fact, all of the supply units admitted to Nightingale have to be represented by one of the five honorable rulers to be accepted.

"What happened?" she whispers, turning away from her friend, Angela, who pretty much snarls at me. She's a real gem. Like the rest of her class, save Jessica, she's made up her mind about me and there's no changing it.

"I was so close, Jess," I say, fighting back tears of lost pride. "They caught me at the last second."

Jessica leans in. "What's going to happen? Did they…" She trails off, looking around. Most supply units are expert eavesdroppers by this point. She switches to French—our secret language that I taught her over the years in our spare time together. _"...tell Lord Cullen? Are you going to be able to leave before the Distribution?"_

I respond in French, the nostalgia of the language warming me a little. _"He was informed but they didn't punish me. Since Distribution is soon, he's going to make the decision then."_

_"He could decide to keep you, still." _Jessica's eyes light up a little.

_"Yeah, right. My happiness is at an all-time low, so even my blood quality test is going to be a nightmare. No way."_

Jessica makes a funny face and it's so random that I chuckle.

_"Maybe that will help the blood test," _she says, smiling sadly because we both know it won't. She parts her lips again._"It is insane that Lord Cullen did nothing about it, again. I've overheard the professors talking about it before. Your particular number really puts them on edge."_

_"I know. I don't understand it, either—except that I have unique features, I guess?"_I suggest, drawing on what Caius said back in the dungeon.

_"He _has _been known for collecting humans based on their traits," _she confirms. Then she analyzes her body and picks at her fingernails. _"I could be in the same boat… I hope Lord Witherdale likes everything about me..."_

I fight not to gag as my ears bleed. I know pleasing her owner has always been Jessica's sole desire, but it boils my blood. However, I'm a good friend, so I don't let it show.

_"C'est ridicule. What's not to like? Quit it."_I say, offering what little reassurance I can. _"He'll be enchanted, no questions asked."_

Jessica smiles.

Witherdale, also known as the "ladies lieutenant," is not as feared by the professors as Cullen simply because he's easy to deal with while handling blood supply issues, going so far as to donate them to the front lines or send them to Saya's Breeding houses on the first offense. I guess that's to be expected when you own a third of the school's girls, and a few boys—it's easy to find any one of them expendable. Cullen, on the other hand, owns the least of all the supply units in the school. From what I understand, he usually accepts Nightingale's will to punish out-of-line supply units, but then also enacts his own form of retribution upon the staff for interrupting his affairs. I suppose he's quite the busy bee, and it brings me pleasure knowing that I have the ability to annoy him.

"Attention, brats. This way."

Everyone simultaneously focuses on the garbage standing tall on the pedestal, Hale.

"The Distribution will commence shortly. The dorm mothers have done a good job with your makeovers and your wardrobe. May our honorable council see the worth in all of you." Hale then peers down at me and says, deadpan, "Except you. There's nothing of worth in you."

Everyone gasps, and their eyes fly to me, watching me like I'm a rat feasting on the very last cracker in the box.

_What do I even say to that?_

"I'd rather die, anyway," I manage a recovery, quickly bandaging the wounds that those words so expertly reopened—the roots of a deep and ongoing pain that delve a little deeper into my heart. Jessica squeezes the hand at my side, lightly.

_"Don't ever say that again,"_she says to me in French.

I don't respond. I'll probably never get the chance to say it again, anyway.

The witch continues, moving on. "From here, each of you will file into color-coded categories based on your sponsors. There are only five choices, given the five honorable rulers, and if you don't know the color of your sponsor by now then you should already be on your way to the _fallen _pit."

Low chatter erupts, and a heavy anxiety settles on the room at the mention of the _fallen_.

"Once you come before your sponsor, the aide will draw blood from your arm and present it to him or her." She glances to the boys who mostly don gold tunics.

Should your sponsor find it, and everything else, satisfying, you will have passed the Distribution. Should they not find you, or your blood satisfying…" As Hale says this, she looks at me and me, alone. "...then you will be fed to Nightingale's _fallen _reservoir."

In this moment I carry all of the weight of what tonight will bring. A daunting realization so strong that my knees struggle to keep from buckling here and now. What's the point in even moving from this spot? In hours I will reunite with Lord Edward Cullen, and he will either sentence me to death or to a life worse than death. Everything. Every little hope I ever found anywhere, was all for nothing.

_"I will miss you, Bella," _Jessica says, because she knows that whether by death or distance we most likely will never see each other again.

_"Me too."_

* * *

I'm really excited for where this is going.


	3. Chapter 3

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**Please enjoy CHAPTER 3**

* * *

Despite the rest of the herd moving straight ahead through the towering wooden doors, my escorts veer me left again, separating me from the traffic.

"We don't have much time, but we must prepare your beauty to standard… or try to, at least," one of the dorm mothers says in an airy voice, giving me the once over. I'm used to it. I'm not exactly as pretty as the rest of the cultivated swine, mainly because my genes weren't chosen _specifically _to taste.

But she's right. I can't go to Distribution in a hospital gown with greasy hair. If I were to be presented this way, my dorm mothers would be just as screwed as me.

At the end of the hall, we turn right, entering a darkened room lit ever so slightly by rope lanterns—tripped by our entrance. One of the mothers points to the center, motioning me to stand upon a surface of wet brick with two bronze fountains on either side. I remove my clothes and bandages and hold out my arms. From the second the dorm mothers draw the fountainheads out of their shells, it takes only two minutes to accomplish the task. One fountain head sprays perfumed and soapy water, while the other follows behind it to rinse off the grime. I would think that with this level of technology vampires would have also discovered how to heat the water, but apparently not. One of the women takes a single, long glance at my anklet. Before she can even take the first step, I slide backward.

"You're not taking it from me," I assure. If they want it, they will have to chop off my foot to get it, but I know the game. They aren't allowed to rough me up because I am, for now anyway, a _precious investment_.

Her eyes meet mine from beneath her eyebrows, shadowy orbs measuring my stature, my competence. She looks about ready to challenge me, but then chuckles and shrugs. The other one just stares, unamused by my display, but she doesn't try anything, either.

I'm given a small towel before they corral me into the next area. My mouth drops at the entrance. It's a dome-shaped room full of reflective glass with a single rope lantern darting infinitely around the circular wall. For a moment I stand in awe as I study myself from all different angles and places. I haven't seen a mirror like this since my home back in France. They were never allowed in the school or dorms.

"Ah, yes. The covetous mirror. Enjoy ravishing yourself." The candid dorm mother snickers. I don't reply, mainly because the energy that would be expended wouldn't be worth it. Besides, the mirror is far more interesting.

The other dorm mother tinkers with a mirror panel that has a crisp letter "E" carved into the top. It slides open, and a single, long, ruby-red dress is revealed. Ruby is Lord Edward Cullen's indicative color in the Stratocracy of Volterra. I lose interest as fast as I gained it, returning my attention to myself in one of the crystal panels, carefully analyzing everything about me. I see new things, like lightly colored birthmarks and blemishes that I never knew I had. Things that don't necessarily displease me, but cause me to question how much I actually know about my body. Like finally putting a face to your own name.

A tug on my arm pulls me from the panel, and the mothers remove my towel. They proceed to dress me, primp me, and curl my hair with hot rounded coils. They place lavender scents upon my chest and arms. And while I should be in awe of myself like everyone else probably was during their dressing, I can't help but find it all very... useless. A waste of time. My mind wanders to my inevitable fate, and I find only enough motivation to prevent myself from crumpling to the floor.

There's no point to any of this.

"No," I say, when they bring out the bottles of red, black, and flesh make-up. They pause and tilt their heads, probably more shocked that a human tried to give them an order.

"You both must know what I did to land me in that infirmary. I'm sure you've heard your fair share of rumors, too, so what's the point in all of this?"

They glance at each other, still shocked I assume, before the more assertive one speaks.

"That is none of our concern. Making you presentable is our job whether you will be torn to pieces or not."

I hold in a tight breath, trying to not say any of the things that I'm thinking. The brushes make contact with my face, scouring the crevices when the other vampire, the candid one, offers a strange reply.

"If you know that you are going to die, why not go out with all you've got left within you?"

"...What?" I wrinkle my eyebrows. Unsure if I heard her correctly.

"If you will die no matter what, you might as well die doing something fun. You know? If all you have left is your pride, leave this world with your pride."

The other dorm mother narrows her eyes at her companion with scorn, but she pays her no mind.

"Pride, huh?" I say, mainly to myself, and the conversation stops there.

When they finish, it becomes difficult to look at my reflection. The person that I see in the mirror does not seem right. It doesn't feel like me. What's more is that as my time slowly seeps away, I grow even more regretful and angry. Anxious and scared. Even if Cullen keeps up his streak of not sentencing any humans to death—for whatever reason—still, my life is only as great as what it can do to fuel the vampire race. That means Saya's Houses, where I will be forced to bear child after child, each one damned to live out their lives pining for vampire attention and hosting an endless bloodlust, until they finally end up back where they all started… where I will most definitely end.

I clench my teeth and lower my head as we make our exit back. I was unable to escape this prison that I have been confined to for ten years, and now, what faces me are only the most insufferable paths. Paths that converge to serve the very things I hate in the most horrible ways I can imagine.

_What can I do?_

I lift my head as we enter the doors from before, the hallway now cleared of supply units and dorm mothers. We find them all in the sanctuary. Five long lines of supply units face away from us, each undeniably anxious, and each stationed in front of a colored banner—Ruby, Amethyst, Emerald, Gold, and Sapphire. Right now, the Sapphire banner is lit from the staged lanterns on the ceiling, meaning that Amun's supply units—who are all dressed in sapphire blue—are the first to be judged. Two vampire guards from the connecting hallway, dead center, motion for the next unit to proceed from the front of the sapphire line.

Meanwhile, my dorm mothers direct me to the end of the Ruby banner's group which is undoubtedly the shortest, but filled with the most beautiful. My eyes trace over them as I recognize only one of the ten or so girls. Glera is one of them, a strange and timid one who shared my bunk at the dorm. She, like the others in the ruby line, radiates with a raw and unique beauty; dark and mysterious, making at least one thing true. Edward Cullen is definitely a collector of rare humans.

By the way it's proceeding, I will be the very last supply unit through the Distribution. The sudden urge to run overcomes me as I fumble over how long I will have to wait; how long I will have to distract myself from what's ahead until it actually comes. What I wouldn't do to be the first in line, if only to rip the bandage off.

The Gold banner alights—Zafrina's indicative color. All of her supply units, nearly all of the male slaves in the school, save for a few, are dressed in bright gold. After Zafrina's, it will be Stefan with Emerald green, followed by James with Amethyst purple, and finally, Edward Cullen with Ruby red.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glint of familiar dark brown hair. Near the middle of the longest line of supply units… is Jessica.

"Jess!" I call out to her, gathering strange looks from the other units, and evil glares from their dorm mothers. My own dig their sharp nails into my skin in disapproval, but I ignore it. Jessica turns my way and I wave. She reciprocates and offers a weak smile—definitely a result of her spent nerves. Behind her is Angela, Jessica's jerk-off friend, who scowls at me.

Jessica opens her mouth to speak but her own dorm mothers reprimand her before she is able. I simply watch as she turns back to face the front, reluctantly so, and I am forced to do the same. James's banner is eventually illuminated and as each moment passes, Jessica inches closer and closer to the front, farther and farther out of reach. This moment carries the feeling that it will forever be branded into my memory. Watching the personification of meekness get swallowed by the monstrous darkness of the judgment hall.

Soon, she's gone, and before I know it, my own line moves forward. Heat flashes consume me. Tunnel vision ensnares me. The blood in my veins flush straight to my head, making my body dangerously close to collapsing to the floor.

_Breathe. Don't faint. Pretend it's fine. Pretend it's fine. _

More moments pass. I move forward again.

And again.

And again.

The fourth unit in Cullen's line makes her way down the hallway toward the Distribution Room.

_Un, deux, trois, quatre... _

I try counting in French to quell my nerves as I edge ever closer.

_Quarante-trois, quarante-quatre, quarante-cinq…_

Eventually, all familiar faces have gone, leaving it to me and two others. Both of the girls ahead of me are visibly shaking and, every now and then, whimpering out of stifled exhales. I can't say that I blame them, but at least they don't already know what's going to happen. At least Cullen's perfect streak of keeping his humans won't be broken with them.

Finally, I step up to the front. My dorm mothers grip each of my arms fiercely—I guess worried that I'll try to run or something equally stupid. And before long, I see them. The two guards that have been walking back and forth to signal next in line for the entire evening.

"Move it," one growls at me and it takes every inhibition I have ever entertained to not spit in his face. I do _move it_, but my building fear collapses.

_To hell with all of this. I'm done._

Under the force of the dorm mothers, I walk unsteadily toward, and eventually past, the soldiers. Slowly and stealthily we travel down the long, dark corridor. Never before have I felt that a hallway was longer than a four-mile run. Our surroundings change from eerie silence to muffled chatter as we near the double doors—I can imagine Volterra's military leaders on the other side, lightly laughing over the humans they condemned to the _fallen _and warbling about the ones they are eager to exploit. My jaw tightens and all around me is red; all I am is vengeance.

I focus on the beautifully carved door handles to further ease my raging nerves when we stop outside of the doors. Beyond this five-inch barrier awaits the five rulers of the Stratocracy of Volterra. One, in particular, is Lord Edward Cullen, of whom I haven't seen in… years. He's the one who not only stripped me from a premature death, but also stripped me of my freedom. The one solely responsible for my decaying quality of life, and yet so oddly tolerant of my rebellion—leaving me without the slightest clue how to rightly feel.

But right now, all I want is for him to see how sickened I am by him and his kind; to feel this very real pain of being nothing more than an object used at someone else's disposal. A unique sense of pride wells up inside of me and I decide. He's taken everything else, I won't let him take my pride.

Today, I control my fate.

No sooner do I obtain my resolve than do the doors open to welcome me to the dreaded Distribution Ceremony.

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**EEEEP! She sees him next chapter! I'm so excited for where this is going! **


	4. Chapter 4

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**Please enjoy, she reunites Edward in this chapter! **

* * *

CHAPTER 4

_The vampire used one of his many robes to clean his sullied hand, never taking his eyes off of me. The long, stiff coat of dark, iridescent red swayed in the wind as he shifted his weight, showing an obvious intent to approach._

_I turned and sprinted with everything I could muster. Only two steps and he stole me from the gracious earth, pulling me to his face. I wailed and kicked and screamed until he spoke softly. "Saath su veastra."_

_I didn't know vampires could speak without snarling, nor did I know what manner of language they spoke._

_"Look at me," he then said in French. _

_They can speak French? _

_I did, and his appearance shell-shocked me—not at all monster-like as I had always imagined. He looked more like the teenage boys from the marketplace than a monster._

_"Interesting," he muttered as I studied his cool, amber eyes, which were one of the few inhuman things about him. _

_How were vampires able to be so horrible if they looked this normal? It made no sense to me._

_"I won't hurt you, don't be afraid," he assured me, pulling me out of my stupor. "Do you have a name?"_

_How could I possibly trust a vampire with my name? The gentleness in his features gave me hope in the chaos. He was different than the rest, I could see it. I could swear on it.  
"B-Bella," I replied._

_"Bella." He nodded as he lowered me back to the ground. "Where are your parents?"_

_The look on my face must have been answer enough as his features softened further. "...Such a horrible fate. Come with me, and I will see to your safety from here on out."_

_Like I could believe him. I knew better than to trust a vampire. Jacob had always told me to never trust them—if I were to ever see them, although he was certain I never would. _

_But this vampire had to be different. He had to be if he wasn't trying to take my blood, right? _

_No one was left. Where would I go? For everything that just happened—for all the bloodshed witnessed and family lost—it was enough to not feel the need to run. At least, for now. _

_"What's your name?" I dared to ask._

_"Lord Edward Cullen," he replied, almost regretfully._

"Keep your eyes down and follow all instructions when they are given to you, are we clear?" the more serious of my two dorm mothers says to me.

I nod and lower my head as the doors before us open with a dreadful screech. We enter and in these last few moments of suffering suspense, I latch onto the sound of my still-very-much-alive heart. All noises from within the chamber cease, leaving me to grow uncomfortably self-aware amidst what I can only assume to be silent scrutiny.

_They can see me now. All of them. _

_Even Cullen._

I continue to slide my feet across the floor, one in front of the other, as difficult as balancing on a taut rope. My dorm mothers motion for me to stop and I exhale with relief. Although, standing perfectly still becomes the next great challenge.

The moon's night-time reflection is the only trace of light that this room permits, only slightly, too, as the trees from outside the tall, stained glass windows absorb most of it. I try to focus on the shadows of rustling leaves that dance upon my feet, courtesy of the windows.

"Z29734...," a familiar voice booms across the dark room. "...Please step forward and present your blood willingly to the honorable general of the Western Sabbanthian province, Lord Edward Cullen," the voice demands of me.

I recognize it now. That male vampire from the holding cells, Caius. That short time ago already feels like an eternity.

As told, I step forward and ready myself in the offering position. I outstretch my arms, crossing one wrist over the other, and present them underside up. While doing this, I dip my head even lower—in accordance with many past practices—to signify subjugation. Usually this stance would cause me to clam up with bitterness, but right now everything is numb, minus the looming anxiety. This degrading stance is a symbol of my pathetic life. Something that I would be expected to do for the rest of it if I somehow make it past this day.

"Dorm mothers please step back, and Rosalie... the kortrastet, please," Caius instructs, and the two, foul grips on my arms instantly release. The _clack-clack-clack _of Hale's basten-skinned heels plod down nearby stairs. A secret hope that she trips and face plants shamelessly crosses my thoughts.

Soon, Caius is beside me. The glinting, carved piece of metal he now holds catches my eye. The kortrastet. An intricately designed needle, secured to a plastic siphon, leading up to what is usually an empty blood pack, but today, it's a goblet.

Caius reaches out and grabs my arm with a hot towel, serving as a buffer between his skin and mine. I have half a mind to make my move now and slap him, spit in his face, put on the show that they all would love to see before I get sentenced. However, I'm genuinely curious as to what Cullen will think of my blood, and to be truthful, I'm just not ready.

Caius skillfully injects the large needle into my arm, a sharp pinch followed by an especially cold and numbing sensation. I blink away the discomfort and wait, watching peripherally as the dark red liquid drips into the goblet. The sound of it sloshing as it spills is enough to make me sick.

As quick as it began, it stops. Caius leaves me with a thin arument bandage and walks out of my lowered line of sight, his footsteps ascending the stairs, growing fainter and fainter… until they stop.

"My lord, your unit's blood...," he says out of offering. My heart lurches. Caius is speaking to Cullen.

For yet another moment, nothing but ringing silence. An endless moment of pins and needles, until a regal and nostalgic voice commands the attention of the auditorium.  
"Ah, how surprising, this one's blood..."

My eyes widen as the deep and ominous notes that illustrate _his _voice permeate the air. A sound characterized by cordial, rich, and vibrant fortitude. It's the voice of the only vampire that has ever called me by my given name. My body shakes near uncontrollably.

"Quite the troublemaker, wasn't she? Is this the one that I kept getting reports about, Demetri?"

Another masculine voice pipes up, "Uh... Tch, tch, yes. Two, nine, seven, three... four? Ah, yes, she has had two reports in the past, and then the uh… the escape attempt yesterday, my lord."

My shaking becomes even more violent as judgmental chatter rings about the room, revealing that there are so many more spectators than what I thought. However, the noise eventually dies down enough to make things even more uncomfortable. So many eyes are on me; probably all of them—Cullen's included.

"Surely you can't be thinking about keeping her?" a noble female voice penetrates the mindless talk. "I know you don't believe in wastefulness, Edward, but the greater waste here would be your mercy."

_What a— _I bite back my thoughts, just in case.

Cullen's chuckle ignites the heavy air. "Thank you for your input, _Zafrina_, but I can decide for myself." A moment of pause lingers until he speaks again. "You see, this blood is definitely of the better that I have tasted, this evening. It's rich and austere. One of a kind."

My heartbeat quickens.

_He can't be serious. My blood should be the foulest thing to ever touch his lips._

"But, I also cannot simply discount the inane will of its owner…," he trails off. "You there, look up at me."

His voice ricochets across the room and it takes me a second to realize that he's talking to me. My heart lunges into my throat. Do the leaders normally ask their supply units to do that? I was taught to never look my owner in the eye… would this count? Amidst my doubt, I do my best to swallow my heart back down into its proper place as I raise my head.

The first things I notice are identical stair-stepped rows, each landing is the foundation for one long station for sitting and leaning, like that of a classroom, and a seemingly important vampire fills each segment. They all eye me warily as I continue to scan, ever so gradually, upward in the direction of his voice. My sight finally reaches the top row of stations, where there are five prestigious vampires backed by one or two lesser vampires. They are intimidating with their fierce wardrobes and malignant auras, each represented by a colored triangular tag that sits in front of them upon their shared desk. Sapphire, Emerald, Gold, Amethyst, and ...Ruby. My heart skips a beat, and my eyes drift one inch more, focusing on the vampire representing the brash color.

Dark amber-stained eyes, only detectable by the cascading moonlight, capture mine with an essence so sharp and demanding that I can't help but drop my gaze.  
"I didn't say you could look away." His tone stiffens beneath his words, leaving me with no other choice but to attempt round two.

This time, I focus on his remarkably familiar traits. A glossy, yet rough bronze, Cullen's hair brushed back over his ears, highlighting lifted and crafted cheekbones—a symmetry paired with something so dreadfully imbalanced. His perfection contradicts the innate, imperious aura of a killer—one that can petrify thousands with fear. He has not changed even a little. Nothing in his appearance has altered from the last time that I saw him. Not a wrinkle present, nor blemish added. Youthful, as if he were no older than myself, no older than the memory I have of him. And it makes sense. Cullen, like every other vampire, outlives humans by an astronomical amount of time.

"Ah, yes." He concludes with a hint of a smile. "Your eyes give away your disloyalty. Tell me, are you not grateful to be receiving another chance at life?"

My eyebrows twitch with annoyance, though I'm sure it doesn't go unnoticed by the room. Numbness and fear ebbs away to accommodate rage.

_How very like vampires. To think living while enslaved is something to be appreciated._

When I don't respond, he continues. "Even if I were to permit you into my castle out of pure mercy, I am certain you would still find something to be ungrateful about." His voice is deep and acidic. He leans on one arm, mulling over my fate as if trying to decide which fabric to don. The atmosphere in the room lightens, while the void in my heart desaturates to pure black. _Who does he think he is?_

"All right," he says, "I will spare your life, human. I will take you to my castle. But first you must beg for the forgiveness of myself and my colleagues for all the trouble you have caused."

My eyes widen and my limbs stiffen with shock. Everyone in the room sneers. Even Hale.

This guy... I wish I could drive a stake through his heart. Luckily, I have enough control to refrain from trying, but it does take every ounce to prevent myself from word vomiting my true opinions onto him and every other low-life in this room. As if an unquenchable flame of defiance reignites within me—filling every pore and coursing through every vein—I recall, and dwell upon my dorm mother's words.

_If all you have left is your pride, leave this world with your pride..._

My arms gradually lower from their submissive positions.  
"Too frightened to speak? Must I send you back to Nightingale to relearn _Acclevin_? Or is it listening that is the deeper problem?" Cullen toys with me and the room erupts with laughter. James, represented by the amethyst tag, calls out almost drunkenly. "If you won't keep her… I will. I personally like it when they don't talk. Their screamy pitches are so very annoying."

Cullen glares at him before following up with a smirk. "Don't even try to poach my lot, half-wit." The room laughs again, unsurprisingly.

It snaps. _Lot? Property? Possession?_

Something within me snaps and I can't hold it back anymore.

"Well!" I proclaim, the notes of that one word dripping with insubordination as every head whips toward me. For a second, I doubt myself. I could play the sudden octave off as nerves and beg for forgiveness. I could claim to have hiccups or I could try and brush it behind the tapestry…

...but I don't. I don't want to. My mouth opens, and it refuses to close.

"Since you all are so _clearly_ a humble and righteous bunch, who _clearly_ don't like to let things go to waste, why don't you all do each other an immense favor and stop wasting my time?"

Everyone, aghast, looks to Cullen whose playful smirk has since fallen to a taut line. Every hint of humor has left his face, mild horror replacing it. His expression is nothing short of intimidating, but I can't help myself. The feeling of openly unbinding years of pent up anger is too addicting.

"You've already cost everyone enough time and headache keeping me alive, so why keep it going? There's no way in hell I'll ever apologize to you or to anyone else for_my_suffering."

His face. That same smug face that promised me safety, and that made me feel like the worst was over back then; the one that manipulated me and locked me within the cold walls of Nightingale to mold me into his blood slave. That face now offers me only an expression of disappointment, maybe even a hint of concern, or distress. I knocked him off his pedestal, and it feels so good that I can't stop.  
"If you think for even a second that I have any intention to beg you for my life, you're wrong. Because I would rather be torn to shreds by the_fallen_than be forced to serve _you_!"

I look to James, the bastard, and then to the rest of them. "That goes for all of you, too!"

Dead silence.

There she is. There's the Bella that scaled the walls of Nightingale yesterday. The same Bella that is apparently hell-bent on dying. But she is brave and unrelenting. I would rather die with those traits than remain alive as a subservient, mindless idiot. Everyone turns, looking from me to Cullen. My dorm mothers hunker back—one trying hard not to grin while the other nudges her forcefully. Caius stands off to the side on the right set of stairs, glaring at me, while the other four military rulers of Volterra whisper among themselves. Reluctantly, I return my eyes to Cullen's, dreading the same antagonizing smirk that he started wearing again. It takes one gulp and my heart shoots into overdrive. For the longest time he sits there, leaning his face upon his knuckles, until—

"You make a very persuasive argument." His tone turns cold like ice as he re-ascends his damned pedestal. He side-glances the vampire who stands complacent on the stairs.

"Caius. I've made my decision."

"Y-yes, my lord?" Caius responds, a bit taken aback, still in shock from the spectacle—which grants me a bit of satisfaction.  
Cullen looks me over, the line of his mouth finally stoic before he announces, "Feed this girl to the _fallen_, if they will even take her. She holds no greater value within Volterra."

Everything crashes down; all becoming real as Caius makes his way over and pulls me by the arm, forcing me left toward another set of doors. I throw one last look up at Cullen, who is already refocusing his attention elsewhere, likely trying to think of how to put out the fire on his reputation that I started. And yet, despite my desire to cover up such weakness, when he shoots me a small peripheral glance, my eyes brim with the result of betrayal. Betrayal because for the longest time I didn't hate Cullen. For the longest time, he was the only being who gave me a sense of purpose in this cruel world. Every day for the first two years, I thought that was the day he'd return.

Back then, he promised he would come back for me when he left me at Nightingale and that everything would be okay. That_I _would be okay. I thought he was different from the other vampires who slaughtered my parents. Not once did he say anything about me becoming a part of his infantry supply, about how I would be treated like dirt, or about how I would eventually have no motivation to live. And because of my crushing naïveté at that point in my life, I actually, deeply cared for him.

But it was all an illusion. One that I was forced to see through on my own.

Though tears of remembrance line my lashes, my mind falls too far into oblivion for them to drop. It becomes difficult to think clearly. Basic thoughts and concepts, clouded. My breathing, erratic. It takes everything in me to walk, and even then Caius pulls on me to speed up. I nearly pass out from waves of panic, from the thought of where I'm about to be, from imagining the feeling of rabid teeth tearing into my flesh.

The first one.

I'm the first human Cullen has sentenced to death.

My escort's voice distracts me from this fact.

"You sure don't know how to control your mouth, do you?" he asks.

I don't answer him. In fact, I make it a point not to. Any further involvement with this world is useless anyway. Unfortunately, he doesn't let my newfound ability to remain silent stop him.

"If you would have begged, he would have kept you, you know? But now you have to pay the price for putting an unforgivable dent in his pride with your petty, soap-box speech...," he pauses to look down on me. "Though I suppose you truly believed all that you said to him?"

Reluctantly, I swivel my head to glower at him as I try to process his words. I'm unsure whether he's deserving enough for an answer. There isn't anything to lose if I do answer him, though. I'm already as good as dead anyway, and I don't want anyone to mistake my actions on this night for stupidity.

"I have no intention of serving anyone that I don't personally choose to serve. This is my life. And if the only way to be free is through death, then so be it."

Caius laughs at me, replying, "Ah, but your fear says otherwise. I can smell it on you."

"...Fear is innate." I reason with not only him, but with myself, my mind clearing to make way for my pride. "It doesn't make my decisions for me. That's what makes us humans different from the cattle you think we are."

"Oh? It seems to be working out for you." He laughs at his own wit. But even as we approach the cellar doors leading to the holdings of the _fallen_, I look him dead in the eyes and respond unshaken.

"Yes, it is." I stand my ground, all the while he refuses to take me seriously. "If death is the only choice that I can make for myself, then I will make it. Gladly."

He snickers again while unlocking the chained handles of the cellar doors. Even this far away the howls and roars of the _fallen_, along with other—more innocent—screams shock my senses. Caius turns to me and smiles with a means to intimidate.

"Go ahead and justify yourself, but you should realize something before you meet this _fantastic _and _courageous _demise of yours. You nearly escaped from Nightingale, the most elite of all the supply schools, known for its near flawless security. So then, what made you so certain that you wouldn't have been able to flee Lord Cullen's castle?"

My eyes widen.

"Are you saying that—"

"I'm saying that you were too busy balancing on your splintering step-stool that you never actually used that brain of yours," Caius curtly interjects, opening the door to the dark stairwell.

I look him up and down. This guy, this vampire, doesn't underestimate a human's capability like the others do. How strange.

"Why are you—" I begin only to be cut off again.

"It's no skin off my teeth. Your destination is at the bottom of the stairs. I would recommend you not to scream or scratch at the doors. No one will come for you and it will also grant you first place in line for 'the drop,'" he says, nudging me forward as I lose my thoughts to the abyss of stairs, barely catching myself on the handrails as the strong stench of death and blood penetrates my nose. My heart snakes its way into my throat again.

"I hope this is what you truly wanted, two-nine-seven-three-four," his soft voice is weighted by poor tidings. "For now, it is your _only_ choice."

He slams the door and a loud sound ripples up from the bottom stairwell.

_BAM!_

"No, stop! PLEASE! NO!" The plea of another supply unit.

My feet slip, and I take my first accidental step onto the stairs. Light suddenly fills my vision as tripped rope lanterns flicker on down the length and curves of the stairway, recognizing my entrance, and giving away my position.  
"Hey, you up there! Quit stalling!" a squeaky voice calls out, the order obviously meant for me.

Dreadful screams and the wet and stringy sound of tearing flesh ricochet in waves throughout the stairwell—a supply unit meeting her end. My breath hitches. Shaking, my hand makes use of the much-needed handrail, and I begin the descent into the _fallen_reserves. I arrive at the mouth of the room and peer around the final corner.

Four vampire soldiers line the walls while an old man, who must be the surveyor, sits in a disgruntled heap upon a tall, metal chair, making tick marks every now and again on parchment. In front of him is a short line of unaccepted supply units awaiting "the drop," or, "the forced push into the pit of once-humans."

The pusher sits upon a similar chair next to the pit. Cage bars that extend to the ceiling prevent fall-ins along the edge, at all but one place—in front of him. This is where the last three rejected units wait. Two now, as the pusher uses a lazy foot to nudge the next in line over the edge. I throw my head away and force down vomit as her screams are drowned by her tearing flesh and crunching bones. The next supply unit reluctantly steps up to the opening and I nearly stop breathing.

"Jessica!" I scream out in disbelief. The panic instantly releases the tears from before as every head turns to look at me. The pusher, distracted, puts down the foot that was mere seconds from sending my best friend over the edge.  
"Bella?" Jessica's brown eyes alight from the flickering lanterns.

"You there, quit causing a ruckus," the old surveyor squeaks at me. "Get in line or I'll push you over, myself." But I pay him no mind. Instead I sprint across the room toward Jessica, and the vampire guards take up their saw-toothed spears.

I happen to briefly notice the other rejected supply unit. None other than a terror-stricken Angela. So, James rejected her, too.

The pusher stands and holds his palm out across my chest to prevent me from reaching my friend, but it's a sorry attempt. I shoot my arm out and grab her amethyst dress by the collar. She falls onto my chest in embrace, crying heavily, and discouraging my prolonging of her death with estranged cries. "Stop, stop, stop. There's no use, there's no-"

"Th-there's been some kind of mistake." I shout as all the vampires in the room approach me, the surveyor still rambling threats.

"I mean it!" I scream, begging to be right. "This unit should not be down here. She's devoted to Lord James, she can't—"

"Bella," the mess in my arms desperately pleads. Her fingers quiver, white-knuckling the ruby straps on my shoulders. I look down at her and she continues in a whisper, "...It's no use. He didn't want me."

"How could he-?"

"He s-said everything about me was good," she now blubbers. "...But he said that he has too many like me and so…" She breaks down and sobs, unable to finish explaining what we both already know.

My eyes refuse to close, horrified by this reality. Horrified by everything. I watch my once optimistic friend bury her head into my breast, her eyes dripping black from washed out makeup and squandered hope.

The surveyor grabs my arm, forcing me back into our devastating situation, but my hold and my resolve only strengthens.

"Get away from her!" I yell, as I whip Jessica away from him, snarling.

The soldiers move forward with their spears, Angela breaks down crying, and the pusher grabs me by the hair. Despite the pain, I still cling to Jessica, and her to me.

"Alright, aberrant... Both of you at the same time," he hisses.

He flings me to the opening in the bars and I barely manage to catch myself on the left while Jessica latches onto the right, our other arms still holding onto each other. Everyone looks to us. The pusher sneers, showing us his yellowed fangs as he rests his large hands on our backs.

"Ready?" He grins.

Jessica and I both look down at the mass of countless detestable beasts that climb and fight their way on top of one another, eager to attack us.

Hunchbacked and naked humanoids, the _fallen _struggle with their blackened, decaying flesh and shriveled loss of hair, unable to contain the lust for our living blood. Their jaundiced and eerily devoid pupils jump between us. The whites of their once-human eyes now remain bloodshot and bleeding, leaving a red trail flowing down their cheeks uninterrupted, and constant. Jagged fangs that rot from overuse snap at us from every direction while dirt-clogged claws bend and break as they try to scale the bloodied stone walls. Even the few dead and cannibalized beasts look as if they died while ripping something apart.

And then there's the floor of the pit, made up of nothing but human bones and deteriorating, putrid flesh. I force myself to release my hold on the bars and fully grab onto Jessica. She reluctantly does the same.

"It'll be okay...," unconvincingly I console her while shaking. "We will go together. It will only be a few moments, then… then it'll be over."

She nods and tightens her grip on me.

Just as the hand applies greater pressure on my back—sending me from the struggle of denial to apprehensive acceptance—a loud and lively voice shoots out from the top of the stairwell.

"Hold it! Hooooold it!"

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**Phew, okay, this one was tough! Obviously, I wanted Edward to take on a kind of malicious, yet still **somewhat** caring role. What did you guys think? **

**Thanks for all the love! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi Everyone! Help is on the way! Wooo! Come onnnnn Bella! Thinking about bingewatching the movies again soon...**

**This fic is really getting me in the mood!**

**Thanks for all the follows, reviews, and favs! You guys are great!**

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CHAPTER 5

The spirited voice shatters the anticipation of the room, distracting the pusher and sparing Jessica and me… for now.

"On behalf of the honorable rulers of Volterra, I must insist that you halt this feeding until further instruction." The voice bellows as its owner descends the stairwell into view. Like most vampires, this one is tall, lean, handsome, and has some sort of chip on his shoulder. Dark, gilded hair shoots across the back of his head, behind his pointed ears, like hardened fragments of light. Not a single strand out of place. Unlike most other vampires however, he doesn't wear a position-defining cloak.

"Excuse me?" The squeaky surveyor barks from the back. "And who might you be?!"

"Manners, manners, I beg of you." the unidentified vampire raises his hand to silence the protests. "I am Demetri, chief advisor to Lord Cullen. So, I would mind yourself, low-breed."

_Lord Cullen's advisor? _

The surveyor sits up straight and clenches his lips together while the guardsmen and pusher grow clammy at the mention of Volterra's elite general.

"That's better. Now then." The man turns in our direction. "Supply unit numbered E-two-nine-seven-three-four, please step forward."

My eyes dart around without focus. I reach my hand out to grab the bars on either side for balance, but I make no effort to heed his request. Both Angela and Jessica look at me questioningly.

_As if I have any idea what's going on._

The vampire notices their glances and motions to me.

"Ah, yes, how could I _possibly _forget you? Come here. Hurry now." He flaps his hand at me.

Unable to do anything other than study him, I try to place a finger on where I've seen him before. I remember, vaguely. He was one of the vampires behind Cullen in the Selection Hall.

"What do you want?" I ask.

He cocks his head, sighing as if he'd just scuffed up his pretty shoes. "I'm here to escort you to Lord Cullen's supply convoy. I suppose he feels that he made an error in his previous judgment... though I haven't the _slightest _clue as to why."

My jaw drops.

_Cullen's keeping me?_

Angela gasps and she turns to look at me, her face shocked and tear-stained. Jessica tightens her grip around my waist, crying.

_This is… It's is a pardon. I'm not going to die. Cullen has, for some insane reason, changed his mind._

"I... I, uh...," I just barely accomplish incoherent jabber when the noble vampire struts toward me, nudging the pusher out of the way and giving a little wink at Jessica, making her step aside. He reaches for me. "We don't have time for any more of your nonsense. You are to come with me."

_Wait a minute._

Pulling my arm back, I take half a step closer to the edge. I haven't the slightest clue as to what's going on and I can't possibly fathom Cullen's reasoning, but the tables have somehow turned in my favor. Cullen apparently doesn't want me to die, and yet, here I stand so close to this pit of _fallen _beasts, and no doubt I aim to take full advantage of it. Right now, I have power.

"No, I won't go," I say, raising my nose in challenge.

"Ex…cuse me?"

"Not without Jessica," I declare. "I won't leave without her."

"Bella, no!" my best friend objects, but I pay no mind. Instead, I begrudgingly acknowledge Angela's puffy face, which is scrunched up, red, and as pitiful as ever. Despite our past differences, Angela and I have been thrust into the same situation. We are both on a sinking ship… and I'm not about to let her go down alone.

"...nor without Angela." I nearly roll my eyes as I say it. Slightly embarrassed, I refuse to look at her, even though I can tell she's giving me some sort of expression meant to make me feel like an angel.

Demetri steps toward me with a tired look, calling my bluff. My reaction is instantaneous as I push Jessica into him while sliding my heels over the edge of the pit. Now it's only my hold on the bars that prevents me from falling. He narrows his eyes as he stops, giving Jessica a sideways glance as she scuffles away from him. He's contemplating his next move.

"Try me," I say, edging my heels further when he goes to sidestep around Jessica.

"Ugh," he sighs, rubs his temples, and retreats. He puts a hand to his ear and half-whispers, "Caius, she's trying to bargain herself... Two other rejected supply units that I assume to be her friends... I know, but if we do that then… No, they both appear to be-," he looks Jessica up and down. "-Lord James's... Okay," he sighs again. "Okay. Yes. Understood."

He lifts his gaze to the three of us before turning to address the other vampires. "I am taking these supply units back to the Selection Hall. You have no right to an explanation on this matter, so I suggest you keep your curiosities to yourselves. Breathe a word of this instance, any of you, and I will be a cheerful attendee to your execution." Theatrically, he points to every vampire in the room. The lesser vampires stand complacent, looking between each other, though none have the audacity to speak out their qualms. Demetri turns to me.

"Well? Come on then," he says sourly, turning to head back up the stairs.

The solid ground might as well be jelly, everything else a blur. I focus on Jessica who is already shaking and crying again. In mere seconds she has me in a tight hug, sobbing, while Angela slowly moves in to do the same. I'm too shocked to feel awkward, but I actively move away from the affections.

"Bella...," Jessica mutters. "T-thank you. Thank you so much. I can't believe it. I-"

"You would have done the same, Jess, it's fine." I cut her off, still so shaken that I can't think straight. She answers by crying more.

"Really? You're still down there? Hurry up you bloody snails." Demetri throws a fit from the top of the staircase, and the three of us start our ascent from the _fallen_reserves.

As I make the upstairs trek, hand in hand with Jessica, there's absolutely nothing present in my mind except stark disbelief. Not one supply unit—no matter how rare or delectable—would have been spared if they acted the way I did at Distribution. And the fact that I'm on my way to Cullen's supply seraglio after impulsively insulting him is more than a little disconcerting. It's downright terrifying. There's no doubt that I will have to face him again, and most likely with consequence. Knots form in the pit of my stomach the more I think about it.

Amidst drowning myself in thought, we catch up to Demetri who taps his foot while waiting—dramatically.

"From here we will take a scarcely used route to the nearest exit," he informs. "This isn't something that happens often, so stay quiet and follow close." He eyes me with suspicion. "Especially you."

Feeling pretty indebted, I take the high road and keep my loaded sarcasm withdrawn as we file through the doorways. In no time at all, the four of us are heading through hidden paths in the halls, down secret passageways, and along shadowy corridors leading me to trip ugly over Demetri.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

He smirks as he continues forward, replying, "Ah, so you do have the ability to be civil? What an honest relief."

I scoff. Behind me, Jessica consoles a traumatized Angela with whispers of reassurance. They were good friends at Nightingale as well. I wonder for a moment if Jessica is closer to Angela than she is to me. It wouldn't be surprising since-

I quickly push the insecurities out of my mind. I need to stop thinking. About everything.

"I suppose Cullen isn't too angry?" I start a conversation with Demetri to distract myself.

"_Lord_Cullen. And of course he's angry. Furious, actually." He chuckles, damning my heart to my stomach. "Lord Cullen is a creature of pride, darling. I would be scared out of my mind that he reevaluated his judgment after that…_episode_."

I look down, a spark of fear causing a wildfire up and down my body. His answer shouldn't be that surprising. However, throughout all my indirect experiences with him, Cullen's been somewhat merciful in one way or another to me. Is it because of how we met?

"Then why has he been keeping me alive? Even at Nightingale he would turn down requests to punish me." I point out.

"Well I wouldn't know anything about that," he says, "but I would suppose that he's just in the mood to do the taming, himself, for a change. Nightingale's methods are obviously not working."

"What?" I hiss, not sure I heard correctly.

"What finer specimen to test his patience than an insultingly impertinent mortal?" he cackles.

I whip my head away. Even this vampire is toying with me.

"Yeah, right."

Laughter still present in his voice, he changes the subject. "Now, what should I call you? Numbers are far too bothersome."

"…Bella," I reluctantly answer as I still tread carefully along the blackened halls.

"No, no, I wasn't asking you. It was rhetorical. Now let's see. How about… Moron, or Cretin. Or, oh, I know! Dimwit. That's a good one. How about I call you Dimwit from now on?" He jabs at me. And while I am surprised by his humor, I'm less than amused.

"As you may have heard back there, my name is Demetri, though it is mandatory that you address me by 'master' from here on out."

"Please," I snort. His company is proving to be a bit more bearable than other vampires that I've encountered. "If anything, it will be 'Master Bloodsucking-Scumbag.'"

He chuckles. "Dimwit's got jokes." And after a moment he says, "Well, _Bella, _I wish you and your little friends luck. You will need it."

He stops and opens a door to reveal a bright, full-moon lit night. Beneath the cascade of stars and milky atmosphere lies a gleaming metal ramp leading up to a huge, prestigious-looking, chariot.

"Depending on how all that turns out for you, we may or may not meet again." He leaves me with these parting words.

My eyes remain fixed on him as he motions me up the creaking slope. Then he turns to do the same for both Jessica and Angela.

Once the three of us are inside the chariot, everything goes dark as the doors are closed and locked. There are two resounding taps on the outside of the convoy. All three of us nearly fall over from the initial force of the chariot's take-off, though we somehow manage to remain upright by shamelessly clinging to one another like lifelines.

The chariot space is rather narrow, but obnoxiously long. Red-dyed velvet walls reflect golden yellow about every twelve feet from intricate lanterns. Other supply units—very few altogether, and all wearing ruby red—sit on black and cushioned benches along the walls, telling me that we are on our way to Cullen's castle. They stare at us with scrutinizing eyes, but I can't blame them. I'm pretty sure the other girls placed bets that I would end up a rejected supply unit even before my escape attempt, so for me to be here despite my history must be quite a slap in the face to all the goodie-goodies. On top of that, Jessica's and Angela's amethyst dresses are like a beacon.

Angela is the first to walk toward three consecutive empty spots on a bench while Jessica and I reluctantly follow. I sit for a moment, looking at nothing else but my dry hands. I analyze every crease and joint consciously, as if they are the most enthralling distractions from the molestation of eyes lift to meet Glera's. She quickly looks away, and I do too... but the questioning tension lingers.

Glera has always intrigued me. Unlike the other supply girls, she mainly kept to herself at Nightingale. I always assumed she had friends, but it seemed more often than not she would be at an empty table studying or staring outside of a nearby window, too busy thinking her own thoughts to care about the opinions of others. I often would wonder if she, too, saw past our cage into the open world. On a different note, Glera is exceptionally beautiful—dark complexion, both a curvaceous and warrior-like figure, almond eyes, and a head full of curly, untamable hair. I've thought about approaching her a couple of times, but she's as good at deflecting social interaction as I am.

Jessica leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder and pulling me from my thoughts. She has a way of doing that at the right times. I tilt my head to rest on hers.

"I don't know where I would be without you," she admits.

"In that pit back there," I joke, and she giggles half-heartedly.

"What do you think will happen once we get to his castle?" she asks, fear raking over her voice. "They have let Angela and I come along for the time being, but what could Lord Cullen possibly do with two rejected supply units? We don't even belong to him."

"I won't let him kill us," I quickly reply, unsure of how I could fulfill that promise if Cullen set his mind to it. "You, especially. Of all people, you don't deserve it. Me, on the other hand—."

"Stop. You can't talk about yourself like that after what you just did for us. I don't know if I could have done that so easily."

"It wasn't easy. And your opinion of me is biased," I say, flicking my thumbs over one another. Under my breath, I add, "I may have told all those vampires to go screw themselves during my judgment."

Jessica snaps her head up and scalds me with her reprimanding stare. She would be a good mother, if she weren't trapped in Volterra.

She squeals between gritted teeth. "Bella, what the hell?"

I laugh, which causes her to laugh. And even Angela, who has been obviously eavesdropping solemnly until this point, chuckles. She finally speaks.

"Well... I'd like to hear about it, if you want to share?"

If she's willing to wave her white flag so easily, I guess there's no reason to hold onto the broken eggshells of the past. I give her a slight smile and begin to explain—with fervor—how I made a complete and total fool of Cullen in front of the entire panel of aristocratic vampires.

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**I wonder if Bella is ever going to warm up to Mr. Cullen? ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

Hi everyone! Please enjoy :)

Chapter 6

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Hours pass before any hints of an impending arrival. Initially, we started the journey on a bumpy, gravel road, but then we lifted off the ground and all around us were howling winds and stomach-churning turbulence. We resorted to flying, and I grew more and more sick by the minute. To keep my stomach from unleashing itself on all the unsuspecting supply units, I decided to disengage from my two friends—I guess I can venture to call Angela a friend, I don't know. She seems easy enough to get along with now that she owes me her life.

We take a sharp downturn and my stomach lurches. I guess one upside to feeling sick is that I no longer feel the severe waves of hunger that have been developing over the past couple of days. I really could go for that bread and water that's probably in my rucksack somewhere on the other side of Nightingale's walls.

The meeting between immovable ground and the tough, creaky wood of the chariot has us all losing our seats, and within seconds the chariot comes to a dramatic halt.

A long and deafening quiet befalls the cabin until a couple of female voices come into earshot from the outside, their volume rising as they grow closer. I watch as the mechanic locks on the door next to me jerk back and forth until they are successfully wriggled out of place. The door-ramp falls outward, revealing the dark, violet shadows of night.

Glera looks from me to the others before arbitrarily standing, which encourages the other girls to do so in succession until I'm the last one seated. Cool, spring air swirls about the interior, sending heavy goose bumps up my arms and face, and dispelling my bout of motion sickness. A head of raven black hair curves around the opening of the door. It's a woman, maybe only a few years older than myself, and given her stark, plain face, most definitely human. She steps inside, and blinks repeatedly to adjust her eyes to the inky, moonless dark of the cabin. The first thing that truly catches my eye is her dress-like robe. An open-necked ruby piece, displaying golden embroidered emblems of Volterra—the upside-down triangle topped with a diamond—up and down its hems, and skirting the ground beyond her white-socked toes. Beneath the heavy material is an ivory dress, only noticeable where the neck of the robe opens near her bosom. A bright maroon sash, wrapped two or three times around the conjunction above her ribcage, gives off a satiny sheen as its two swaying tails fall harmoniously to the ground. The style is strange, but the strangest accent by far is the burgundy ribbon that is tied loosely around the breadth of her neck. It's essentially a token—indicating that this woman is undoubtedly one of Cullen's established supply units.

After her eyes adjust to the darkness, she calls out to us.

"What are you guys still in there for? Come on out, don't be shy. Lord Cullen might bite, but we won't. Well, Anaya might..."

We all chuckle at her joke. The refreshing bout of light-heartedness convinces me to stand and to meet the whole situation head on. I breathe away the last of the nausea and file in line to exit, mentally preparing myself to pay attention to everything that I see, hear, or feel from here on out. Every crack, cranny, or flaw in security at Cullen's castle, I need to find. Knowledge is key if I'm to escape—assuming Cullen doesn't chop off my head first. My eyes glaze over, and I shudder at the thought.

Glera is the first to exit the chariot, followed by the rest of the girls. Then it's left to Angela and Jessica staring at me expectantly, urging me to go first, their eyes filled with crippling uncertainty. I get it. Neither of them would be here without me, so it's only natural.

Once outside, the three of us line up behind the other girls. We are in the middle of an open field, surrounded by forests, and nuzzled by shriveling grasses that are still damp from a recent rain. I exhale sharply from the brunt of the cool air. Everyone looks around, and all seem somewhat disappointed that the scenery hasn't changed much from Nightingale to the Sabbanth Province. None of them would know, because none of them care about obtaining knowledge that's off-limits, but the Southern and Western areas of Volterra are forestry. They'd have to go East or North for a real change of pace.

Ahead, a different, more regal-looking supply unit forces herself into the center of our attention. Though she wears the same intricate clothing as the one from before, this woman has that gleam of royalty. Her bright, brownish-blond hair is more elaborate—pinned with jewels in an artistic fashion—and funnels into a taut widow's peak. Her face is laden with copious amounts of makeup, while her body language renders her unapproachable. Pair all that with the bitter expression and the domineering attitude, and it tells me all I need to know. This human woman is the head of Cullen's supply units.

With disgust stamped across her face, the head supply unit clings to a note of parchment, peering at each of us and scribbling upon it while silently mumbling to herself. It is during this time that the light-hearted supply unit from before sneaks over to Jessica, pushing a ruby robe into hers and Angela's hands. "To prevent others from asking questions," she whispers, catching the three of us off-guard. She must already know of their situation. If so... then mine as well.

While throwing on her robe, Angela nudges both me and Jessica, pointing toward the front of the chariot. Four massive, horse-like beasts stand in two rows of two, whinnying impatiently. It's their added features that make them "horse-like." Their snouts are scrunched up like a pig's, but off-brown and slightly more wrinkled and unattractive. Their ears are long and wide, yet shriveled thin, and hairless enough to see contrasting stringy veins throughout. Moonlight rays glimmer upon the beasts' onyx eyes and rove over velvety broad shoulders and hunched backs. A pair of rumpled leathery wings that stretch farther than the length of the creature itself, jointed and webbed, sit above the ribcage of each—looking like those of a cave bat. Unlike any creature I have ever seen before.

Vampire soldiers, or servants I suppose, emerge from the surrounding woods and approach the horse-beasts with leather straps, untying them, readying them for the end of the night. The resonating voice of the head supply unit reclaims my attention.

"New supply units to Lord Edward Cullen, please allow me to welcome you, _wholeheartedly_. My name is Anaya, number Z16948," she states, straightening her back and firming her features. "First, we will enter our lord's noble home and then we will direct you along the most common route for supply units, prior to his return. We wouldn't want to inconvenience him with our undesired presence, nor would we want you to get lost, so stay close and pay attention_._"

_This is going to be fun_. I roll my eyes.

Anaya turns on her heel and walks toward the forest as the front-line of supply units follow. The hills ahead show no sign of a castle, nor anything but endless tree lines for that matter, which can only mean an exhaustive walk. My stomach gnaws at me desperately and fatigue hits me like a wave. I choke it all down and continue onward.

Only about a kilometer into the trek, more strangely dressed vampire guards come into view. They are stationed radially in front of a small field, seemingly guarding nothing. Anaya, meters ahead, lifts her wrist. The sleeve of her robe falls away, revealing a thin cylindrical gold plate that looks to be painfully connected to her skin. I wince at the sight, remembering that the rest of us will be _tagged_ as well. Her specific tag must act as some sort signal, for the guard closest to her then raises his spear and makes a strange motion.

After a few moments of silence, the endless forest ripples like a waving flag before dissolving into light blue hues, revealing a colossal stone-walled acropolis. My jaw drops on its own accord. Undoubtedly, the rows of trees that filled my sight moments ago were some sort of an illusion to what really occupied the space. Cullen's castle. I grimace at the thought of him, though I marvel at the majesty before me. It is still such a foreign concept that devilish vampires have this level of beauty mastered.

"Isn't it something?" Jessica marvels alongside the rest of the units. I don't respond, but I do agree.

As we trudge past the outer wall, I unwillingly think of Cullen—his decision to spare me from the fallen—and my heart aches deeply. Not in anger this time, but in sadness. A long time ago I promised I would never allow myself to be appreciative of anything Cullen did for me, because all of it was ultimately for himself; for the vampires and their bloodthirsty race. I shake my head vigorously.

I think about the anklet dangling near my heel, and my resolve is instantly repaired—my anger refueled. He is a slave owner. He took me for his own gain. There is no other explanation. My eyes well and memories threaten to flood the gates.

To rid my mind of it, I stick my nose into Jessica and Angela's conversation which currently revolves around the medieval architecture of the castle. I need to be present. I can't ask questions, or else I will fall apart. When we reach the courtyards, the stone path gives way to water gardens filled with greenery. Blue, purple, and red blossoms of every kind are scattered about, and all are enveloped in shadow and early fireflies. As we draw nearer, long, tinted windows that are nestled along the castle's perimeter wall come into view. They reflect the moon and stars brilliantly, almost purposefully. I take note, as the doors open from some unknown force, that those windows must contain the castle's gatekeepers. Information that might come in handy for later.

Once inside, the elegance floors me. Elaborate oil portraits of war and brutality—embellished by thickly carved frames—hang along the vast, inner sandstone walls. Bronze sculptures of soldiers boasting the valor of battle, and kilned pieces of beautiful women fill every empty corner or open space in the enormous and tapestry-adorned foyer. The first sculpture that greets us in the lobby is of the great general, himself. Cullen. The bronze molding stands tall and proud, post-battle. One of its hands crosses over its body in some sort of salute, while the other holds a decapitated enemy by the hair. My stomach turns at the grotesque sight, reminding me of that vampire that Cullen killed ten years ago. The one who nearly killed me. This is the type of person I'll be serving, though it should come as no surprise. It's no secret that Cullen is ruthless on the warfront, but with each passing painting of bloody battlefields, the rumors solidify, distorting my mental picture of Edward Cullen into something far more frightening.

We continue on toward the heart of the castle, skipping the two stairwells on either side of us that, according to Emi—the supply unit who greeted us in the chariot—lead up to the studies and libraries. Why Cullen would need more than one of each, I have no clue.

Anaya takes us down a tall hallway lit dimly by real, golden-waxed candles. The grace of such light is so intermittent, however, that the halls might as well be pitch black. A few corridors under our belts, and we emerge to a grandeur ballroom. The beautiful space, with seemingly no end to its height, is brightly illuminated by moonlight—trickling in from the tall paneled windows along the far wall. Many vampires, servants I gather, hurry about looking rather flushed, and spare only a moment to stare at us before resuming their affairs. In the center of the grand hall are two spiral staircases, each intertwining around one another, and reaching about five flights into the ceiling.

"This is the most direct route for us to take to Lord Edward Cullen's chambers." Emi pipes up with a smile. "This route was designed for the supply units specifically so that our lord wouldn't have to wait too long for his meals."

Nothing can hide the disgust from my face, and Jessica notices.

"Heaven forbid he waits two whole seconds." She nudges me while giving me a wink. I laugh out loud by accident, relishing the rare moment of spunk from Jessica.

Anaya's eyes dart sideways to catch mine and I straighten. Her glare lasts long enough to warrant uneasy glances by the other supply units, and to make me look down at my feet. Anaya resumes the tour, stating, "Normally we would take you up the staircases, but given that our noble lord is most likely entering the castle as we speak, we will head toward the seraglio. These twin-cases will be your most important destination, so forgetting their location, regardless of how often you are summoned, is inexcusable. If nothing else sinks in, at least remember this path."

She makes a sharp turn back, cutting through our entire group with rough nudges from her bony shoulders. I manage to jerk back in time, which gathers me a particularly venomous scowl from her. My eyebrows raise with incredulity, stupefied by her public display of assholery. Great, another Hale.

Silence lingers across Jessica and me for a few moments as we let the atmosphere soak up the tension caused by Anaya, until Angela draws in her breath.

"...Maybe she's upset that she has a huge stick in her butt?" Angela blurts, and the three of us erupt into laughter. Thank goodness Anaya is so far ahead, or we would have received an even testier glare.

We continue the trek through the maze of corridors and hallways, but I'm paying attention to everything. From the gold-encased scrolls that the scribes carry along the passages to the key rings dangling on the maid carts. They might be useful later.

After the three of us fall silent, the waist of my dress is tugged, and I look back to see Emi.

"Don't worry about Anaya," the petite woman reassures lowly. "She's the head of the seraglio, and also our lord's personal favorite. So, she starts off particularly territorial when new units arrive."

_Personal favorite?_

"...Oh," I reply, kind of annoyed that Nightingale politics exist here. "That makes sense. Thanks."

"Of course." She smiles warmly, quickly adding, "Lord Cullen should be home any minute now. All of the servants look so antsy. It would be good if we kept up."

She pats my arm before rushing ahead to catch Anaya.

"...Sounds like it's Lord Cullen's stick that she has stuck up her butt, then." Angela corrects her previous statement, and I can't help but snort. My view of Angela is gradually lightening the more the real her surfaces.

Jessica's eyes widen. "I suppose being Lord Edward Cullen's favorite requires an attitude?"

"Then the three of us have a good chance." I casually throw in.

These few moments of human interaction are proving nice, though I refuse to dwell on it too long.

It takes a while before one especially long corridor starts to make a slight decline, growing more and more steep until it almost becomes impossible for the rest of us to stand without sliding downward. Anaya and Emi, however, are seasoned professionals. We make it to a spacious landing, much to my relief, while Anaya turns and informs us.

"Ahead are the Seraglio Chambers. As soon as you enter you will be tagged with your respective numbers and summoning devices. These are essential for you to gain entrance." She pauses to glance over us. "Afterward we will go over the rules and expectations of each supply unit, specific to Lord Edward Cullen's preferences. So, stay close and stay left."

I follow behind the others as they all descend into darkness. A steep stairwell welcomes my hesitant feet and I am forced to reach out to either side of the walls to prevent myself from falling. As the ground drops, the walls grow cooler against my fingertips. I should have suspected we would be residing below ground. How fitting. Also, how troublesome. Without immediate access to the outside world, a feat such as escaping from an underground blood harem is going to take much more than some intel and rope. Time to locate a shovel and some dynamite, I suppose.

Eventually we reach the end of the stairs, walking forward for a period and reaching a fork in the path. Everyone follows left as told, though I find the right more compelling in this moment, and not just because I am a rebellious soul. Although it is so faint that it causes me to question my sanity, a light purple hue pulsates from my right peripherals. I stop abruptly.

"What is it?" Jessica asks, running into me.

"Do you see that?"

"Huh?" Both she and Angela look down my line of sight curiously.

"See what?" Angela asks.

"There. There's a light coming from that hall," I say, looking up at them for only a moment before turning back.

"Bella, are you seriously doing this? We don't see anything." Jessica sounds legitimately pissed as I feel my way along the sandstone walls, toward the light. Lovely Jessica. Always a rule follower, like the rest of them. I could never seem to pluck her from those infallible traits that Saya guaranteed on all of their sales, the kind that sap the sheer individuality out of the human, albeit rendering them soulless blood sacs. Sometimes I wonder if I would have liked Jessica if she had been born to the world as I had, with the ability and free will to choose who she wanted to be.

But I guess there's something innate in everyone that always surfaces at one time or another. I think hers is kindness and some sort of strong moral compass, while mine is still up in the air. I like to label myself the outcast, but I don't think that counts. Maybe I wouldn't have been so bitter if life simply continued on in my hometown of Avignon, like normal.

_But was it even that normal?_

The light pulsates brighter as I round the corridor and for a split-second, I'm afraid. What could produce this glow other than something living? A vampire awaiting me, luring me, even. One with littler self-control than the ones at Nightingale, whom were specially trained to face arduous temptations every day. I shake the thought from my head. No one here would dare touch one of Cullen's supply units. As we were taught in _Daily Lessons Among our Masters _back in fourth year etiquette studies, lesser vampires who so much as touch the supply unit of their masters were subject to death penalties. All of which are gruesome, according to texts, since vampires are fairly close to immortal. So, I should be fine. _I'll be fine._

I peer around the final length of the curve, and my mouth nearly drops, but I swallow down my heart instead, stepping closer. Before me is a wall that is made of a strange, violet light, as if the bright, rigidity of lightning met the ever darkening, fluidity of the ocean. It ripples, and skips over itself at times; the whole thing a fragile mess of anti-physics.

_Am I dreaming?_

A door makes itself known in the center of the wall, rippling with the rest of it.

The wall itself is sheer enough for me to at least see if there's movement on the other side, but all I can make out are shapes—rectangles, more specifically—unmoving. I give it another moment or two, just in case something is waiting until the last minute to jump out and strike, before I cautiously reach my hand out toward the handle. Increasing warmth, and a strangeness that can only be described as light particles collapsing and hardening into something moveable, fill my hand. A real door handle. I push down on it and open the waving impression of an entrance. Everything on the inside solidifies into a complete change of scenery. A lit lantern bounces light off a patch-patterned marble wall, rather than sandstone. A fur rug lines the entire floor, glistening black and silver from the fluttering light. Leather chairs upholstered with brass buttons, small table rounds, and rows and rows of bookshelves fill the large space. I step inside and take extra care to close the door softly, which adds an ounce of comfort to this dangerous mission that I would most definitely get reprimanded for.

_Add it to the rest of the list. _

I walk across the room and look down and along the shelves filled with scroll cases and books, making sure that some creeper vampire isn't hiding out, waiting for me to take some kind of bait before leaping on me. The room is empty, I conclude as a script at the back of it catches my eye. Between two windows at the back, some sort of cursive scribbling is chiseled into the wall. I take one last glance all around me before making my way to it. The title is legible enough for Acclevin, the official language of Volterra, but the rest of the words are in a completely foreign language, most of which look like "n's" and outdated math symbols.

_The Setting Sun_? I mull over the title in my head, hoping it will lend some sort of clue to the overall message. It looks like poem by the way the sentences are structured, but it must be important if someone took the time to inscribe it on a wall.

Despite the frustration of having no earthly idea how to decipher it, but feeling every need to, I think of how I could maybe bribe a servant for a language dictionary or something. It takes almost too much time for me to realize that I'm practically brain-storming how to get a book while walking through a library.

_Only you, Bella._

I start at the far-left bookcase and run my fingers over the spines, mumbling the different words for 'dictionary' so that I don't accidentally skip over one. To my surprise, I find "_The Setting Sun_" written on the spine of one of the books. The entire thing is gold-plated, making it heavier than a brick. What's better than a dictionary? An entire book covering a couple stanzas of poetry. I open it and the first thing that graces the pages is, "On Behalf of the Elders: Great Library of…" The next word is lost on me, so I try to sound it out. "...EE-Shah-er."

Amidst my endeavors, a glinting object in the far corner of the room catches my attention. A glass case enclosed by gilded metal rests against the far-right wall. I close the book, hugging it to my chest—definitely because I want to and not because it is heavy—and walk over to the display.

On one end there's a handgun with a chain attached to it, an artistic impression of a fruit tree running up and down its grip. Next to the gun is a bracelet with tri-colored beads, followed by a white and black swirl patch, and then on the far right there are two steel bracelets with fleur de lis on each end of the wrist adjustments. On the second shelf of the case are dual cuff links with "SAW" embossed on the front, and next to it: a brooch. A beautiful sapphire and gold piece, intricately fire-shaped and crafted to the finest detail. I'm suddenly reminded of the dying fire in my mother's bright eyes that night. And as I recall them, the entire library, including myself, is engulfed by flames.

* * *

I've got a plan for this, promise! Also, Jacob will be in this story o_o...

Let's see what happens? She's about to come face to face with Cullen soon..


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, welcome back! I hope you guys have enjoyed the last couple of weeks. Real life has been super busy... Anyway, please enjoy the new chap!**

Chapter 7

* * *

"Wake up! Bella? Are you there?" I can sense Jessica and Angela, even though I can't see them. Sound illuminates my world, but my body is frozen. The horribly dry feeling along my lips and tongue tell me that my mouth has been open for a while. My eyes and mouth are gaping, begging to be reconnected to my brain, and everything is darkness until a weight lifts itself from my chest and I fling upward, gasping.

"What the hell happened?" Angela shakes me until I push her away. "Are you okay?"

I look around to see Jessica crying in the dim light of the hallway. Everything is black. The violet wall and door: gone.

"Did you… did you guys see the room?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"What room? Are you going crazy? This is a dead end, there's nothing here." Angela gasps for breath, her sentences running together. "We came after you and found you lying on the floor. You were breathing, but barely, and your eyes were open, not blinking. It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

I look to Jessica who confirms everything with her concerned, doe-brown eyes. The rippling violet wall, the soft fur of the rug against my feet, the weighty casting of the golden book… all of it felt so real. Jessica nears and helps me up as I desperately try to piece together what just happened.

"Are you deaf?" An annoyingly loud voice echoes across the stone walls, causing the three of us to jump. Anaya is plodding down the hall, looking even more cross now than before—which is surprising in itself. She plants herself in front of us, staring down at me from her easily six-foot height.

"You were given simple instructions to follow. Nothing _too_ elaborate, or so I thought," she hisses condescendingly, mainly focusing on me. "Should you neglect adhering to my word in the future, you can expect a one-way ticket to the Sabbanthian _fallen _chambers."

My blood lights up at her power-play. As if she has the ability to decide my fate. She's human too. All head supply units are good for is sucking up and pouring out, and maybe leading a tour, that's it. I speak before I think.

"Yeah, right, get off your soapbox. No one with any real power cares what you have to say."

Angela and Jessica both clam up behind me as Anaya snickers, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. "Playing that card, are we? You don't know much about the rules of a seraglio, do you? Anything you need… new clothes, more food, maybe a pen and parchment to doodle… all of it comes through me."

I swallow and shift my focus between her gray-blue eyes. By this point, my better judgment has successfully wrangled my loose tongue, and I remain silent even as she smiles coyly, reveling in the slight victory. "I hope you understand the extent of what you've done. I can, and will, ruin you here."

She puts distance between us to speak to Jessica and Angela as well.

"Everyone is already line for tagging. Move now before I increase your punishment."

"Increase?" Angela asks lowly, almost unsure if she's allowed to ask at all.

"Yes." Anaya smiles. "Thanks to your friend, you will begin your next few days scrubbing the supply bathrooms. Move along."

It's hard to feel anything, anything at all, except for pure rage and confusion. What I saw behind the violet wall was real. Whether I stumbled into an alternate reality by mistake or into a vortex of witchcraft, I don't know. But it was real. And another thing that's real… my budding hatred for Anaya. Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to my friends.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know that this would..." I trail off, uncertain of how to properly apologize for what could very well be sheer craziness.

"Don't worry about it," Jessica whispers, "It's obvious Anaya has something against you."

"Even I can see that," Angela mumbles, although clearly upset by her punishment-by-association as she now stands with her arms crossed and body turned away from me.

I'm slow to nod as my eyes linger along the black wall behind me, aching to see the violet light again. To at least prove my own sanity to myself.

_God, I hope I'm not crazy._

* * *

The small lobby of the Seraglio is well-lit, brighter than any other room I have ever seen while in the Stratocracy of Volterra. It's a nice change, being able to see clearly for once. Compared to the dormitories at Nightingale, the Seraglio is in better shape, even though the cracked walls and dusty remnant decor of horses and landscapes are barely comparable to the rest of the castle.

Everyone is already through the line once we get there. The counter assigned for tagging also happens to be the Seraglio's official entrance, guarded by a single male vampire servant, who sits behind and beneath an archway that reads,

**Blood Supply Seraglio**

**Submission. Sacrifice. Obedience.**

The servant looks up at me, after having just admitted Angela and Jessica, from behind the long counter.

"Number?" he questions me.

"E29734."

He rifles through his drawer of clacking metal tags before fitting the matched one to an electronic contraption with protruding, fang-like teeth.

"Right wrist." He outstretches a bony hand toward me.

I obey only after I consider all other options, dreading the sheer thought of the pins skewering my arm. He moves the contraption that holds my tag between two clamps, adjusting the pins and brackets according to my wrist size to render my arm immovable. The clamps release and the two pins pierce through my flesh until they are met and fastened into the brackets.

I yelp, trying to stifle my cry the best I can at the sudden flood of pain. The pins of the tag go all the way through the flesh while the brackets secure and shorten them. I look away, heat swelling in my chest at the thought of what it means. Officially branded. This permanent tag forces every vampire to recognize me as Lord Edward Cullen's property. It is also meant to alert me if I am being summoned by him.

I grit my teeth as blood and raw pain pulse out of the wound. The vampire attendant reaches for me and within a few short moments he has wrapped my wrist, tag and all, with a salve-laden arument bandage. The power of vampire-engineered salve is an amazing alleviator. Although any movement or tightening of my joints sends waves of discomfort up and down my arm, more or less it feels simply burdened, numb.

"Now that you're done whining, would you like to come in?" the scurvy, overly-hairy vampire asks, opening the passage gate directly next to him.

I cradle my throbbing arm and eye him coldly while side-stepping through the gate. On the other side, Emi stands meters away, waiting. She calls me over.

"This way, before you miss too much. Anaya is speaking." she whisper-yells. Clutching my arm and wondering why I should care, I force myself into a trot for Emi's sake rather than Anaya's.

When I reach her, she wastes no time in pushing me through the doorway and closing the door behind me. Anaya completely pauses her current topic and turns to glare at me from the makeshift stage. Her expression is one that is a strangely satisfied look of disappointment.

_Of course_.

This invites the new supply units in the back, as well as all of the experienced supply units at the front, to shift their gazes toward me. Jessica and Angela acknowledge me with pity from the back of the room, beckoning me to quickly come sit with them. My mouth goes dry as I try to ignore every pair of eyes that remain locked on me. Carefully, I maneuver down the main aisle, trying to locate my care-less attitude, as well as every single obstacle that might cause me to trip. With how things have been going for me lately, I wouldn't be surprised if a rock popped up out of nowhere to sabotage my footing.

Step by agonizing step echoes against the walls until dead silence finally rings about the room. It's only when I have completely sat cross-legged on the floor, alongside Angela and Jessica, does Anaya continue on with her lecture, redirecting everyone's attention from me, back to her. Oh, what I wouldn't do to see that woman catch on fire right now.

I'm distracted from my loathing by sharp throbs of pain shooting up my arm. I glance downward, moving the arument bandage slightly to run my fingers over the inscription of the tag's face plate. My identification number, age, blood type, and owner are all nestled within the grains of the stainless-steel band. I force myself to pay attention to the witch at the front in hopes she'll say something worthwhile for a plan of escape.

"The seraglio is five stories deep with each floor serving a unique purpose for the supply unit. The first Standing—where we are at this very moment—is the check-in, check-out, and meeting rooms. Most of you will have no business on the first floor unless you are tending to servants or have been summoned. Which, depending on our lord's fancy of your blood, could be very rare, or not at all." Her eyes fall on me for a brief moment and I scowl.

"The second Standing is where we all are stationed for overflow work from the castle's servants. Laundry washing, food cleaning, blood compounding, and donation. Overflow work may also require the supply unit to leave the Seraglio, which is only allowed by servant escort, and by permission from master Demetri, madam Coffet, or madam Victoria, the caretakers of the seraglio. The dining hall is on the third Standing and holds all rations earned by every supply unit. The quantity of rations that you are given directly correlates to how much work you complete. So, should you slack off all day, your skimpy meals will show for it."

_That's alright. I'd rather starve, anyway. _I lie to myself out of spite.

"Now, the fourth Standing is devoted solely to blood quality, meaning that it is meant for leisurely and self-pleasing activities. I would highly recommend not to spend the entire length of your days there, but care for your blood as our wonderful Lord Cullen's satisfaction with you is on the line." I roll my eyes as everyone lights up at the sound of his name. Cattle. All of them.

"And finally." She takes a breath. "The fifth is our shared bedchamber and lavatories. Curfew is at eleven every morning. No earlier, no later. Wake-up call is at seven every night. No earlier, and no later. Sheet and cleaning duty of the bedchamber will be assigned based on-"

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

A high-frequency sound erupts past my ears and across the room, stopping Anaya mid-sentence. I wince, lifting my hands to my ears instinctively only to throw them back down when the sound grows exponentially louder as a result.

Confused, I look down. And there, beneath the arument bandage that is soaked by my blood, is the light of my tag, flashing bright red, and emitting the offending noise.

My heart nearly stops, and shocked gazes fly toward me, making me the center of attention yet again. Anaya's expression is especially memorable as I lift my eyes enough to see her mouth drop slowly, as if her usually-collected self snapped and she was doing all she could to keep it together.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! _

The nagging frustration continues as I conclude…

_…__I'm being summoned._

* * *

**Cullen returns in the next chap! Lucky for you... I might have it directly on hand :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**OKAY HERE IT IS AKLKLJSLJLKGALAL!**

**Where Bella meets Lord Edward Cullen T-T!**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Nothing can flush the panic that surges through my veins. Black dots swim across the pupils of my eyes as my heart pumps loudly from the bottom of my throat to the tops of my eardrums, drowning out any other sound. I look to Anaya, seeking some sort of guidance. I know that my expression is pathetic; vulnerable, but I can't help it. My first meeting with Cullen, of whom I insulted to an unimaginable degree just hours before, has come much sooner than I anticipated. I am horribly unprepared.

Wittiness, cockiness, bravery, strength. In an instant my best traits are all painted over, wiped away, leaving me with unintelligible mush for brains.

"You mustn't make him wait." Anaya shouts at me from the front of the room. Her unusual passion causes the other supply units to become uneasy. "Go. Before you upset him!" She says this as if I haven't already done so ten times over.

Everyone shifts their opinionated stares back and forth, between us. I look to Jessica for comfort as I stand. She and Angela both offer me nods of confidence and naive mumblings of "It'll be okay," and, "Good luck."

Before I am even sure of what I'm doing, I find myself at the front of the auditorium, the band bolted to my arm still shrilly sounding. I take one last look up at Anaya as I pass through the doorway, and at the last second her face contorts with jealous anger. Humans bred in Volterra are crazy, I've decided.

In what feels like an instant, I am at the end of the passage, nearing the seraglio's entrance. I reach the front desk and the same skeletal vampire attendant from before sneers, permitting me the view of his elongated fangs. He looks down and uses a small brass keypad to type in my numbers. The crude noise and flashing light from my tag stops.

He grumbles. "That there tells our lord that you have been accounted for and that you are officially on your way. So, if you don't mind...," he extends his hand toward the exit. At the end of his hand stands a proudly-postured vampire woman. She is donned in robes of white, gold, and lavender. She smiles widely at me in my approach.

"Hello. I am Madam Alice," she says.

I don't respond.

"Follow me." Her face scrunches up to participate in her giddy smile, giving off a senseless effervescence. What a strange vampire. I wonder if she's crazy, too.

Madam Alice turns to make her way down the hall.

I somehow manage to follow, traveling through the dark corridors of the castle with surprising grace this time around. As my toes slide along the cool grainy floors, a small reverberation of my resolve pulses through my body once again. The distance between Cullen and I suddenly feels wider, despite truly being closer than moments before. I cherish the peaceful unrest that accompanies the illusion, for it allows my brain the space to start working again.

As I pass through the large mouths of conjunctive hallways, I analyze my surroundings in hopes that I might find a way to escape before facing Cullen. But every window, every doorway, every hole that looks to have the capacity to fit me through it are heavily obstructed by passerby servants, handmaidens, guards, or noblemen. And all seem to take their time studying me. I curse under my breath.

Outside of Nightingale, or any supply school for that matter, humans are hard to come by—endangered, in fact—making the presence of one more of a luxury rather than a commodity. Even here, where the servants probably see humans every day, our sheer presence ignites their predatory senses. Most vampires in Volterra, including the elite's servants, know blood only through synthetic methods, or through highly expensive blood packs. The latter having grown only a bit more prevalent since cultivating humans became a legitimate practice. Ignoble vampires are strictly prohibited from killing any humans, and face severe repercussions if they do... But the elite, of course, _can do whatever they please._

It makes me sick to my stomach, thinking about the inner-workings of this world. The part of the world that everyone else chooses to look past.

As strange eyes continue to scan me, and with Madam Alice on guard, I conclude that my chances for escape have dropped straight down to absolute zero. For now, anyway.

My heartbeat becomes erratic the closer I draw to the grand hall. I'm running out of time. My mind trips over itself. Telling me to run and take the leap for freedom despite the underwhelming odds; anything to get away, and to stay away, from the lord of this castle. A bead of sweat falls down the side of my burning cheeks as my eyes shift upward to take in the twin ivory staircases that the rest of us passed earlier. The ones that lead straight to Cullen so that "he doesn't have to wait too long for his meals."

_Pig._

I swallow hard. The thin columns of the cases, carved intricately to look like porous bones, swirl upward with instruction, imploring me to not keep their master waiting.

I take one final look toward the huge paneled windows of the grand hall, the glass reflecting the dull oranges of dawn. I ignore the suspicious stares of the nearby curtain attendants and the expectant eyes of Madam Alice while I consider shattering a large, stained glass window and making a break for it through the courtyard. However, something holds me firmly to this spot, to this purgatory. An intrepid curiosity that is, bluntly, meaningless.

_Why did Cullen decide to bring me here after everything I did?_

I clench the ivory knob on the base of the handrail as my thoughts shift from a need for freedom, to a need for answers.

Almost instantly I'm climbing the stairs with a renewed sense of determination. The singeing need for answers easily replace my lukewarm fear and hesitation. I won't stop. Midway up and I'm on my own. Alice doesn't follow me and offers no words of comfort or parting as I step ever upward. Sliding my numbing fingers over the handrails, step by step, I ascend, repeating calming mantras to myself in hopes that I'll handle this event better than the last. Distribution was proof enough that I didn't know how to control my temper, and if I wanted even half of a chance at living past this day, I couldn't be rattling off insults the moment I strolled into Cullen's room.

I slow nearing the top of the intertwining staircases. I gulp when I look down, realizing that the height conquered could easily be compared to that of the Nightingale Walls. Maybe even a little higher. I refocus my eyes to the four steps left before me and a new surge of fear amplifies. I move to silence it.

_Four. Three. Two. One. _

At the top, I still have at least fifty yards of gaping hallway before it opens to an enormous set of doors—of which, I can only assume lead to Cullen's personal quarters. As my feet take the last steps of the journey, more cautious than before, I notice the guards—masked from the forehead down to the nose—lining each side. Their electric spears are crossed over one another in a similar fashion, and their armored bodies stand rigidly still. Each one I pass never loses face, never coughs, never speaks, never twitches. If it wasn't for the small layer of sweat glistening upon their jawlines, it would be difficult to tell them apart from sculptures.

_"Okay, time to stop distracting yourself,"_ I mutter. _"You're almost there. You can do this. It'll be okay._

If Cullen wanted me tortured to death he would have left me at the fallen pit. Surely, this can't be worse than that.

The guards uncross their spears to turn and open the doors to his chambers, and a shudder of fear slithers along every surface of my body as I take in what lies before me. Pitch black darkness. The huge room that I'm expected to enter looks to be an abyss of nothing.

"Well?" A voice from behind startles me.

I turn on a dime to see a well-dressed vampire, almost exactly like Demetri from back in the Selection Hall, walking toward me. Wait, it is Demetri., Master Blood-Sucking Scumbag.

"You can't just stand there," he says, stopping short of me. He smiles in a sarcastic "you're wasting my time" sort of way.

"Why are you here?" I snap, looking him up and down.

He laughs to himself before responding, "I am the 'ensurance' policy. Here to _ensure_ that you don't get any funny ideas."

I scowl at him before he nudges me closer to the two doors. "Don't keep him waiting, that will only lose you points, dimwit."

Reckoning that he's right, I refuse myself a snide comment to speed along the process. My fingers fidget with each other in restless ticks as I take a deep breath, solidifying my journey into the illusory emptiness that is Lord Cullen's quarters.

Each step is an eternity.

Each inch, a meter.

The echoes of my steps grow louder the closer I draw to the center of the room, while everything else becomes engulfed by eerie silence. The two doors shutting behind me, unanticipated and loud, send my heart into overdrive. Looming claustrophobia clouds my thoughts as my eyes are unable to adjust to such stagnant darkness. After minutes pass without even the slightest alleviation to the tense atmosphere, I dare to speak.

"Excuse my entrance... my lord," the last part burns my tongue, but I refrain from any other potentially insulting honorific. The last thing I need is to dig my own grave. I'll save that for the day I make a break for the tree line, laughing the entire way with my middle finger in the air. And I'll leave Cullen a note or something, telling him how I really feel about him and his haughty tribe of oversized mosquitoes.

No answer from the abyss, although I can sense down to the bone that I am sharing the room with _something _else. More agonizing moments pass without reprieve, putting me further on edge. I recall Demetri's presence before. Cullen had to be here. If there was back-up called for the task of corralling me into his chambers, how could he not be? When the question leaves my mind, a harnessing and lasting chill shoots its way up my spine. It is so painfully cold that I'm unable to move, frozen in place. I try to cry out but a voice as dreadful as death interjects.

"I think you have done quite enough talking, today."

Immediately I recognize the affronting octaves as belonging to Cullen,_ the_ Edward Cullen, and immediately my determined and fearless nature dissolves as if it were a pathetic facade. Following the sharp break in silence, footsteps fill my ears. Every bone in my body, every ligament, and every muscle aches with astonishing pain. Each of them has escaped my control. I can't move. And the feeling of absolute despair and hopelessness invades my mind the closer the footsteps draw.

_"What is this? Why am I-," _I think to myself, beginning to hyperventilate as the effects of the sensations worsen both physically and mentally.

"Don't forget to breathe," he suggests calmly. "Enduring something like this can be a bit overwhelming for humans… from what I hear."

_Something like this? _

He's now insanely close to me. He's towering me, watching me. And although the hints of amber brown hair have been noticeable for the last couple of steps, only now am I able to make out the faint outlines of his face. I panic at the proximity. Agony sweeps over me in the form of a tormenting, unseen demon and I let escape a silent scream.

Cullen's cupped hand finds my jaw and suddenly his lips are at my ear.

"Are you feeling faint yet?" he whispers, sending hot breaths down my neck. "This is one of many abilities that has been passed down to me as a _pureblood_ vampire."

My eyes glaze over as he speaks. Pureblood. Only a few lines out of the entire vampire population that are gifted with certain, catastrophic abilities. All of this... is him.

"I can control the blood of any that I have tasted. I can stop it, I can expand it, I can tear it apart. I can kill you right now, Bella… without so much as sullying my hands."

It hits me; my blood halts in circulation for a split second and my whole body aches. I desperately try to cry out, to scream for help that I know will never come. My better judgment finds me amidst the sensations.

_Why try anyway? Why even care? _

My body relaxes, and I grasp onto the bigger picture of this horrible reality. It would be better if he killed me. That way, I wouldn't have to be the one thing I never wanted to be.

A human in a vampire's world.

My mind, now nearly consumed by rage and apathy, almost doesn't register that he called me _Bella_.

_So, he remembers me._

"But don't worry," he says. "I won't kill you."

I will myself to look him in the eye, to see if he's serious or just that big of a blowhard, but I can't move. He releases my cheek and pulls back.

"After all, there is no point in killing those that wish for death. If death is not your weakness, then there is something else that you fear far more."

The invisible hold on my body suddenly breaks, and I crumple to the floor. Power play. That's all any of this is. Anger overshoots my judgment and I meet his dark, obsidian eyes, insubordinately. As I study them with nothing short of intense disgust, their malice intensifies. I'm not supposed to look him in the eye at all, ever.

He mumbles something, but I can't comprehend it.

Butterflies of warmth shoot from my neck down to my toes, proving that my blood is free of his fatal hold. My mind, far too lost in recovery from such pervasive manipulation, neglects the most basic of functions: listening.

"Did you not hear me?" he says. "Stand up."

My fingers curl in over the marble below me, my nails scratching and folding in on themselves. I wish I could dig them into his face. A burst of air makes itself present in my chest, yearning for release. But I bury it beneath promises of later. Now that I know he intends on letting me live, I have plenty of time to show him how I feel. I force my balance as I stand straight as an arrow, the most confident posture of my life on display for a narcissistic monster who would probably rather see me hunched over like an injured mutt. Not today.

Edward Cullen reaches for my jaw once more, insanely fast, and pulls it upward so that I am forced to look at him. I avert my gaze. He turns my face to the side, running his fingers through my hair while dropping his sights to my neck.

Then it clicks. I understand the emotion that oozes from those orbs. Blood lust. I saw it in the eyes of that vampire so many years ago, and in the eyes of all I have met thus far. I'll never forget it. An innate fear drowns out all of my other emotions as my mind connects every dot. Right now, if Edward Cullen were to destroy his inhibitions and take my blood without a kortrastet needle, the toxic mixture from his fangs would convert me into the _fallen_.

_But... he wouldn't do that. There would be no point to any of this. Right?_

His fingers catch in the knots of my hair.

"Frightened?" he asks, undoubtedly sensing my heightened reactions that have gone unchecked. "You should be. You made quite the fool of me back there."

All I can reasonably think to do is manipulate my way out of this situation. It has always worked at Nightingale. The only difference is that the one willing to punish me right now isn't some third-party babysitter... it is the one who _owns_ me.

"I apologize," I mutter, glancing between his fangs and his chest, keeping tabs on the former for my neck's sake. "I didn't realize the severity of my actions."

He chuckles, tilting his head to the side. He doesn't believe one ounce of it.

Well, there goes that plan. The words are far from true, but the fact is I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I said those things to him. I thought I would be dead by now, another rotting corpse in the _fallen_ pit getting split apart by fang and bone. The truth is I just wanted to go out with a bang. S_hould I tell him that?_

"Forgive me,_ my lord_." I grit my teeth together as I dare to look him in the eye. "Since I was certain that I would be sentenced to death, I figured that I might as well eliminate any preconceived notions about me. Apparently, I misjudged your _kind and merciful nature_."

I maintain my eye contact. His expression remains ambiguous until he finally smiles. I wonder if smiling means the same to him as it does to the rest of the world.

"Such sensitive creatures, you humans." He eventually pairs a phrase to his smirk. He trails his fingers from my jaw to my neck. "Perhaps letting you die instead would have solved your emotional turmoil?"

Tensing within his grasp, I fight to not answer such a goading question—one pulled from a trifling past. Instead, I flat-out ignore it.

"I kept you safe, untouched by others of my kind even when you would rebel. And this is how you repay me?" he says, a shade melancholic.

"My body may be preserved but my mind has been rotting for years." I find my voice. "I trusted you that night. When you told me everything would be okay. For the first two years I lived every day wanting to die. I mourned the death of my family alone. I suffered by waiting, thinking you would return... thinking that you meant everything that you had said to me. Once I finally accepted the truth... that the sole purpose for you keeping me alive was to be your slave, death no longer intimidated me."

Silence envelops the room and the wisp of his smile deflates to a taut, unmoving line. _Sympathy? Regret? _Maybe something struck a chord, if vampires have any chords to strike other than anger and violence.

"I see. But it does not warrant such irate behavior," he says icily, and my spine stiffens. "As you are aware by your being here, I don't want you—nor your blood—to go to waste. So, how can I dissuade you from your sorry attempts to flee my castle?"

I nearly laugh. "You can't. I will try until I either succeed or until you send me to Saya," I declare.

"Hm, or I could break your legs?"

A shiver of fear ripples across my forearms. He must catch the scent because he lets slip a grin. _Is he messing with me?_

I clear my throat. "I will never stop trying."

"Yes, well. Everyone has something they refuse to bargain with. And unfortunately, you have already shown me yours."

_What?_

He grabs the front of my ruby dress and pulls me closer.

"The lives of your friends."

My heart skips a beat.

_Jessica... Angela… He can't…_

I look him straight in the eyes with rage as tears fall freely.

"Don't you dare," I whisper. "They didn't do anything." I throw my fists against him, but he silences the attack with his fierce grip.

He states calmly, "How about we compromise?"

_Compromise? This vampire is a monster._

My fists drop to each side and I swear if my nails were longer, they would be drawing blood from my own palms. Edward Cullen's hands find other prey in removing the loose strands of hair from my neck, his features falling expressionless as he watches the understanding pour over my face.

"Compliance can always be bought," he explains. "Accept and embrace your life here, and your friends will be overlooked. Continue on with your useless acts of dissent and I will see to their deaths myself. Do you understand?"

Bitterly, I nod, sobbing while failing to put at least an inch of space between him and me. There is so much that I now cannot fathom. By saving Jessica and Angela from the _fallen_ and bringing them here, I obliterated any chance to free myself again… unless they would come with me. But knowing Jessica, there's no chance.

"Is this why you've kept me alive all this time? To just toy with me?" I ask, my words cracked by tears, and my resolve momentarily broken.

"That _is_ the question, isn't it?"

He grabs the hair on the back of my neck and pulls down, exposing the breadth. My mind leaps to my years of night terrors; to that vampire from ten years ago; to my mother changing before my eyes into one of the _fallen_. I nearly forget to breathe as terror floods my veins.

_He's going to turn me into one of them!_

"No! You can't!" I scream as he lowers his face to the crook of my neck and shoulder, his hot breaths sending chills along my skin.

"Consider this your punishment," he says softly.

My fingers grasp at his immovable arms that have me locked against him. I pull and push with as much might as my hands can muster, to no avail.

If I am dirt, he is steel.

_How can he do this? I thought we—_

"I'm sorry for everything I said and for everything I did!" I blurt out anything that may stop him, regardless of sincerity. "Please don't turn me into one of them!"

Edward inhales along my neck while licking the spot that I've only ever read about in history books. The spot that vampires would bite for prime blood flow in the past, before the law of Volterra banned the conversions. It dawns on me that he has no intention of stopping.

His fangs find their target…

_…__and tear into my neck._

Searing pain shoots up and down my spine while hot liquid siphons from the wound. I cry out muffled screams, the burning intensifying as the warmth from my body is stripped little by little, every few seconds.

_No... _

Dizziness overcomes me; my limbs grow weaker and weaker by the second.

_...I can't be one of them._

My thoughts fly to my home in Avignon... to that night. Watching through smoke and rubble as my mother is converted to the _fallen._

_I can't. I can't become that._

"Kill me please," I mutter, as my world becomes

wholly and completely black.

* * *

**! **

**Don't worry, this DOES continue, and she is part of the zombie vamps**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi guys thanks for being patient! More regular updates coming. :)**

**Chapter 9!**

* * *

Sharp tingles fly up my body, pulling me into the world again. My face is slick with sweat, my body is spent, each limb as heavy and bloated as a sandbag. If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that I have no clue where I am. I blink the gunk out of my eyes so that I can see, although thick linen curtains block me from seeing anything past the small cot that I'm in.

It's dark, minus some flickering from a candle in the near most corner. Layers of denim and corduroy blankets insulate both my body and its egregious stench. I throw them off in a rush to feel the affections of the room's cool air. A stinging pain from my neck shocks me into recollection. Cullen bit me and drank my blood. _What happened after that? _I frantically analyze every inch of my body. All my hair is where it should be, no grotesque nails, no jaundice, no blood dripping from my eyes, no insatiable bloodlust.

_I'm not one of the fallen? But how? Am I dead?_

Footsteps and a pair of voices interrupt my thoughts. "Did he take too much blood from her?"

I recognize this voice. I try to piece it together and finally picture a tall, blond vampire.

_Caius? _

"No, both he and the nurse assure me he did not. But she is taking longer than the usual," Demetri replies. I recognize his voice instantly.

"Perhaps it would fare him better to just leave her be," Caius says, "given her apparent worth."

_My worth? _

_"_To think he would risk his resolve—"

"I think she's awake," Demetri attempts a whisper. "Nurse."

Heavy footsteps eventually thud across the marble floor. Two dark shadows appear below the linens, indicative of two ankles, foreshadow a grand entrance.

They open and a large woman, a vampire, looks me up and down grievously. She stands stout in a medic cloak, much like that of the doctor in the Selection Hall, except hers is a dark shade of ruby red. The makeup that covers every corner of her face is noticeable, gaudy, and looks to have already endured a full day's wear.

"Come to, now, 'ave we?" her voice carries like none other, shrill and deafening. I merely blink as she walks away. She spares no pause for my questions, saying, "Can't be goin' to our master's quarters without a bit o' bread on your stomach. 'Else I'll be seein' you of'en."

"What?" I ask, confused by the random statement.

"You can't expect to feel fine after a feedin' if you don't eat, child!" she snaps, making marks on her paperwork at a nearby counter. "Goodness, you 'ave a fancy for faintin'?"

"Wait," I mutter, beginning to understand. I slide my legs off the edge of the bed. "Are you saying that I fainted from a lack of food?"

She turns a quizzical eye at me. "Yes? Why else would you think?"

"Because that was her first summoning, she got herself into trouble and Cullen wanted to teach her a lesson, I'm sure," Demetri says from behind the woman. "Though, he went a bit easy if you ask me."

Caius stands wide-eyed off to the side._ Why is he here? _

They both stand in the doorway of what I have concluded to be the human infirmary.

"You...," I direct my confusion to Demetri with disgust, although my mind is still swimming with confusion.

He responds with a politely sarcastic smile. "Hello, Dimwit, how have you been? You're looking a little pale. You thought you were going to turn into one of the once-humans, didn't you?"

My face falls to a glower.

"I'll take that as a yes." He turns his attention back to the nurse. "Nightingale is still teaching outdated information to their students, I'm afraid," he proclaims, sitting down on the side of another cot and throwing his hand out in reference to me. "That fine dimwit over there is still under the impression that Lord Cullen's bite can turn her into a _fallen_ beast. Which is why she looks so ghastly... Well, that might just be her face."

I ignore his jabs only because of my intrigue.

"How is that possible?" I ask. "There's no cure for the _fallen_, I thought?"

"Ah, right! No cure. However, there is a newly discovered vaccine for vampires that eliminates that pesky side effect. A rather peculiar substance of modern science, really. They call—"

I stop listening as I process his claim. I'm still alive and I'm still myself.

Slightly enthused by the fact that I won't be turning into a blood-lusting corpse anytime soon, I lift a grateful, yet shaky hand to my neck. My fingertips lightly trace over the swollen punctures that are covered by an arument bandage. The relief dissipates when I realize how pathetic I must have sounded last night.

_I told him to kill me. Really, Bella? There goes your big-shot act. _

Realizing that Demetri is still talking, I reluctantly tune back in.

"—although, they are extreeeemely expensive. And currently only awarded to elite vampires who own humans. They are trying to make it more available to further curb our losses, but they-"

"Quit rambling," Caius snaps at Demetri as he pushes past his outstretched legs.

"Oh, well do excuse me,_ your highness_!" Demetri growls.

Before I can blink, Caius has closed the distance, kneeling down to analyze me.

"Lord Cullen requests the status of health. No abnormalities? Hints of disease or underlying conditions?" he says to the nurse while mulling over me.

_What the hell?_

She responds to him, "Nothin' out of the ord'nary, your grace. In need of food is all."

Caius nods and stands, still staring down at me with an odd expression. The waiting game is awkward for a moment or two. I nearly bring up the Selection Hall when he reaches into the sleeve of his robe and pulls out five blue tickets with gold-embossed characters reading "1R."

"Here," he murmurs, holding them out for me to take. "Since you haven't had the chance to work yet, you will be needing these for your rations tonight. Make sure you work enough to eat well while you are here."

I raise a brow, confused by both his and Cullen's apparent concern for my well-being, and also by his very presence in the castle.

I take the tickets cautiously. "Why are you here? Are you not a Selection Hall attendant?"

"First, you must know your place. You will refer to me as 'your grace' from here on out." Caius says, raising a finger. Demetri and I both roll our eyes. Caius, turning a blind eye to the act, indulges my question. "I take great pleasure in commencing the Distribution ceremonies once every year. However, every other day of it, I take pride in myself as the ambassador for Cullen's Province of Sabbanth."

"He's also Lord Cullen's half-brother." Demetri chimes in. "I would know, because he never stops reminding me of it." The comment receives a menacing side-glance from Caius, and a little chuckle from the nurse.

"Really?" I ask.

Given Caius's questionable comments to me in the Selection Hall, I would never have guessed that he was an attendant to Cullen, much less related to him.

"Yes. On behalf of the Great Elders, I swear my allegiance to my younger _brother._ But don't worry, I would much rather serve him than be in his position."

Strange to think that one would rather serve than be served. I can't help but admire that humility, although I cannot sympathize with his view of Cullen—he is the least deserving of any sort of devotion.

Caius grants me a curt dip of the head, signaling his departure. He turns on his heel to stride gracefully out of the room, glaring at Demetri in the process.

As his footsteps dissolve to light echoes, Demetri scowls.

"Don't like him?" I ask.

"No one does," Demetri mutters, exchanging raised eyebrows with the nurse.

I look between them, trying to catch on. "Why?"

The nurse reaches into the lower cabinet to pull out a blood pack filled with water and a package of fruit. She walks toward me, her noisy heels clacking along the way.

"He jus' puts our lord on edge." She pushes the food and water into my lap and turns to go back to the counter. "Sibling rivalry sorta' thing, I would guess. Although they aren't _actually_ brothers. Just in arms."

"Oh." I look down to my anklet as I drink the blood pack of water. It's still there, looking ratty as ever. The metal pieces are jagged, reminding me of fangs sinking into flesh, as Cullen's did last night—reminding me of my desire for freedom and my hatred of vampires.

My stomach knots in either painful hunger, or bitter anger, and Demetri seems to notice.

"Come, come. Get dressed, eat that, and I will escort you back to the seraglio."

I glance my body, briefly frightened by the fact that I might be naked. To my relief, fully clothed.

"I am dressed...?" I inform him, speaking slowly as if that will make it truer than it already is.

"Ugh. With those rags from the Distribution, still, yes. How unfortunate that Lord Cullen had to see you while in_ that._" He gives me a glance up and down with disgust as he explains. "I escorted Jessica up here earlier with your robes, but you were still unconscious. That girl sat here for quite a long time waiting for you to wake up, in fact. Anyway, they are at the foot, there." He points to the end of my cot.

Jessica never ceases to amaze me.

My chest instantly tightens when I recall what Cullen said about her the night before. Her fate now rests in my hands. If I don't stop trying to escape, he will kill her. I swallow hard as I grab my assigned robes—identical to the ones Emi and Anaya were wearing last night. Finally dressed after countless rounds of trial and error—awkwardly and modestly commenced in the small space behind the curtains—I expose myself. Both Demetri and the nurse look me over for a split second before nodding.

The nurse walks over, applying salve to a crimson ribbon in her hand while on the way.

"Okay now, don't move," she says, reaching up to remove the bandage from my neck. She then replaces it with the ribbon, wrapping it repeatedly before finishing it off with a bow—hiding the twin wounds.

"There. That'll do for now. In the future you will 'ave to do this yourself." she declares.

I nod, inspecting the ends of the ribbon that hang to my knees. Everything about my wardrobe is doll-like, pristine, and somewhat unnecessary. I purse my lips with annoyance. My rebellious nature returns as I start to feel like a certified object.

"We best get a move on, come now," Demetri urges, standing to walk out of the room.

"Do I have to go with you?" I ask somewhat sarcastically, expecting a quippy reply that never comes. I jog to catch up to him, scarfing down the apples and water like I have never been hungry before. My legs still shake, my body is still weak, but I manage to catch up to Demetri.

A long silence ensues until I begrudgingly mutter, "I'm sorry for... you know, being rude."

"Oh, I don't care, particularly. But you really can't go parading your indignant personality around here. Despite our castle having come to a comfortable coexistence, humans are still at the bottom of the hierarchy."

I raise my eyebrows in offense but I listen to him. If any negative opinions about my attitude get back to Cullen, it's now Jessica's life that I have to worry about, and I don't think I can physically endure losing anyone else.

"You _must _start referring to every vampire here by 'master' or 'my lady,' aside from Lord Cullen and Ambassador Caius, of course. Your regard for your nurse was far too informal. At least pretend to respect your superiors," he lectures.

After a brief pause for a self-contained monologue of internal conflict, I reluctantly respond, "Yes... _master_."

I recall the awkward run-in with Caius.

"If you don't mind me asking… why does Lord Cullen tolerate Caius serving him if their relationship isn't that great?"

He hesitates a moment, seeming to wonder if he should answer. "Well, you would think our lord has a choice in the matter, but—

Suddenly, Demetri pushes down on my head with his hand.

"Bow," he commands.

The urgency in his voice leaves me with no questions, only compliance. Between bouncing red strands of hair, I make out guards lining the hallway, bent slightly in their own bows. A tall, intimidating figure strides down the center of the passage. His chains, armor, and weaponry rattle with each determined step, while many other steps scurry in follow.

_It's Cullen, for sure. And some of his personal attendants?_

I catch Demetri out of the corner of my eye as he gives quick bow.

"My Lord, Cullen. Good afternoon!"

The rattling metal echoes to a halt before us, and my heartbeat quickens—the vampires can probably sense it, too.

"Demetri," Cullen greets. "Escorting, are we?"

"Yes, my lord," he replies. "Taking our little troublemaker here back to the seraglio. I am unaware if Caius has relayed the information yet, but she's doing well. In good condition!"

A strange, long pause is left in the conversation, but I lose interest as my weighted eyelids become too much of a distraction. Blackness surrounds the edges of my vision as the pull of gravity grows stronger, pulling me to the floor.

An obstruction curls beneath my torso, preventing me from completing the face plant. I look up to find that it's Cullen's arm that holds me in suspension. His expression is menacing; his eyes lock mine, teetering precariously between annoyance and... _concern? _Mine, however, can't be anything less than that of a fawn caught in the jowls of a wolf. Although it is dim in the hall, I am able to see Cullen's face clearer than ever before. He would be horridly, strikingly handsome if he wasn't the literal bane of my existence. I furrow my eyebrows and push away, standing upright once more. The fragility of a fawn giving way to a tigress as I remember everything from last night. The pulsing pain in my neck. His manipulation and his cruelty. Now I picture him more like a weasel rather than a wolf. His eyes linger over mine for some time before they pull away to Demetri. The intimidation that has been pooling in them multiplies.

"Good condition, hm?"

"Well… erm, or so I thought," Demetri tilts his head, eyeing me like a house of cards that might fold in on itself at any given moment. The vampire attendants in the background also don't look too pleased.

"Keep your eyes on her. Let me know if she causes any issues. And don't let her fall next time."

"Forgive me, my lord. The missions to the borderlands are today. Hopefully all is well despite the reports?" Demetri changes the subject expertly.

"Abethos has always been on thin ice. Their state has grown more… restless lately," Cullen responds after a moment, taking documents from a nearby scribe. "I am not too optimistic about it."

My interest hinges on 'Abethos'—the neighboring, vampire country closest to Cullen's region of Volterra. Most of the books I read about it were extremely biased, basically calling them hypocritical pacifists for their easy outlooks on blood consumption. The tensions are high between the two countries.

"Well, safe travels, my lord. I will hope for the best," Demetri says as he nudges me expectantly. I tighten my already balled fists.

"Th-thank you, Lord Cullen," I say, the words dropping painfully from my lips. I swear by everything that he smirks, but the only thing I'm absolutely sure of is him and his posse leaving, one clanking boot at a time. Once they are gone, Demetri pats me on the back.

"You are free to move now. Eat more of that, okay?" he orders, gesturing to my bag of fruit. "That was nearly a disaster."

"Disaster? Are you serious? I would have barely hit my head or knees or something."

"Well, you never know... with how fragile you humans are."

I snort. "Yeah, you're right. So fragile. Hopefully this grape doesn't get lodged in my throat and I suffocate to death."

Demetri looks at me like I'm about to keel over and die.

"I'm kidding, _master Demetri_." I don't understand why he would care anyway, unless keeping the blood supply safe is a life or death mission for these escorts. It's funny how priorities change so suddenly between the Distribution and the seraglio, as well as the dynamic between all of the vampires involved—a vicious world overrun by extremes.

"Calling me 'master' in the snarkiest way possible doesn't accomplish what you intend to accomplish, Dimwit." He sighs, rubbing his temples.

A chuckle snakes its way into my throat. I'm wearing on him.

"No, it does," I assure. "Am I too much of a handful for you? Do you need to pass me off to someone else?"

His dull, hazel eyes sweep over to me, taking me in with a smirk so cruel that I would never have guessed it belonging to Demetri. He crosses his fingers.

"All you see is what I want you to see, darling. It is _you _who would benefit from other company."

The turn in conversation freezes me up, a raspberry that was halfway to my gaping mouth fumbles in between my fingertips as I picture every terror that his words could possibly allude. He laughs a guttural, stomach-turning laugh.

"Nothing is ever fun and games," he says. "Take what you are given with gratefulness. It is my job to make you feel comfortable here, you know, for heightened blood quality and all that."

I glower at him, realization slapping me in the face. I didn't notice how comfortable I had become with Demetri's happy-sarcastic nature, and how I never once considered it could all be a show. He reads my face and puts his hands on his hips.

"Oh, come now. I can't let you have the upper hand all the time." He winks at me, and suddenly I'm more confused than before. He either speaks sarcasm with much more grace and fluency, or he's playing me in the palm of his hand. Either way, I'm jealous of the skill. Demetri struts down the hallway. "Come on, Dimwit. I have to get you back to the seraglio. I've got other issues to deal with besides the likes of you."

I stand dumbfounded for a moment and follow. The first obstacle is the stairs, of which I do my best to descend while inhaling the gold mine of blueberries stuck at the bottom of the fruit pack. We walk in such an awkward silence—well, awkward for me—because I can't shake this sudden feeling of conflict—one that I never thought I would have. Demetri challenging my trust in his personality made me realize that I_ actually _put trust in it. That I felt a level of comfort around him, and still kind of do.

_Why?_

Maybe I don't hate all vampires. Individually, anyway. I despise the ones that attack and degrade humans, ones motivated by greed and malice—perhaps that is most of them, or even all of them. But really, my first impressions of Demetri, Caius, and even the castle nurse aren't all that bad. And if I were to pick at straws, Cullen catching me earlier... well, that was almost an amiable act, even though the wounds on my neck beg to differ.

I don't know. The atmosphere feels different here, and I'm not sure if it is the castle or if it is me. It seems different from what I have always assumed, different than what I imagined when glaring at the professors and the faculty from across the room back at the school.

_Was everything less dramatic than what I thought?_

I look down, studying my juice-stained hand and I frown. Despite the disapproval of every bone in my body, my all-consuming hatred of vampires isn't amounting to a force all-too-consuming.

_Why is that?_

I think of the doctor back in the Selection Hall. About the water and the blood. Maybe vampires are like us humans, trying to secure their finite resources. I look ahead to Demetri, who seems to be happily humming to himself.

Then again, maybe they are only showing me what they want me to see.

* * *

**Much love, hope you enjoyed.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi guys, welcome back! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Life is crazy, you know!**

**Chapter 10**

* * *

I'm in a daze once back in the seraglio. I saw that violet light again as Demetri and I passed the fork in the hallway on the way back into the underground. He didn't seem to notice and I wonder yet again if I'm crazy—but my curiosity is on fire. If I were to go back, would the library room be there? Is any of it even real?

It doesn't matter. It would be nice to get lost in something, especially now that I have to face the inevitable problems that come with dozens of other human women, as well as my lack of a solid plan for escape. Shuddering, I pass the same auditorium from when I was first summoned, officially unsure of where I'm going or where everyone is. The first-floor lobby is vacant, a large square room, hosting several bamboo benches surrounded by clay-potted plants that stagger unevenly—though orderly—across the length of the stone floor. There's a decorated manhole that lies dead center in the room, a spiral staircase at its center.

Although the darkness is a rough accommodation, I persist, stumbling down the thin and steep stairwell to what looks like a factory. There are rows upon rows of connected desks that are bricked, grayed over from dust, and supporting the work of nearly every supply unit in the castle, from what I can picture. It's clear where the line is drawn between each duty. The laundry stations have teethed water wells built into their centers with two supply units assigned to each one. The water girl rinses and scrubs the assigned robes and sheets—given to them by the castle's vampire servants—until they overflow their baskets with clean, dripping articles. Once her basket is full, the dryer girl drags the load toward the corner of the room where countless rails jut out from the wall, alternating upward and nearly reaching the ceiling that holds two huge… fans, I think they are called. A piece of technology from before the Days of Slaughter, meant to mimic high powered winds. That piece, I'm fairly sure I learned from my mother. The dryer effectively climbs the side rails while hanging the robes and sheets across several sections beneath the wind's force.

I turn my attention to the center of the room where supply units are using cloths, water, and peeling devices to clean mounds and mounds of human food. Well, I suppose it is also vampire food. They can't live off human blood alone, from what I understand. My mouth waters when I spot crates of potatoes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, strawberries, rice, and other such items. Despite having just eaten, no amount of food can curb an appetite that has grown accustomed to hunger. Plus, who doesn't like food?

The next station is an assembly line of sorts. A wide belt that holds glass tubes of product moves every minute or so between the circles of supply units. I spot the vials that are filled with chemicals, powders, and liquids, and I recognize the process immediately—thanks to the grade A education from Nighting_hell_. Blood compounding, the process of cultivating synthetic blood for impoverished vampires. During the Days of Slaughter, a few future-oriented vampires came up with a solution to the famine that had soon erupted. Synthetics. A technology so well-understood and harnessed that it only takes the mixing of a few ingredients to make a highly potent substitute for the real thing, even though it still doesn't fully satiate.

My eyes fall on the two girls at the end of the synthetics assembly. One stirs the thick scarlet substance in a barrel, while the other funnels it into empty blood packs and places them in crates on a carrier. Jessica and Angela. Without a moment's hesitation, I descend the rest of the stairs, nearly tumbling to my death in my shaken rush. The flat ground is more welcoming of my flying feet, thankfully.

"Jessica, Angela!" I call out.

They turn to me, recognition lighting up their features like fireflies. Jessica leaps up, runs to me and throws herself into my arms. She nearly knocks me over. Her new, ruby robes are thick and warm. Her hair, freshly washed, smells of rose-water. That's one thing they guarantee us. If it has to do with anything that could potentially offend or displease your vampire owner—such as bodily stench—you would be treated to amenities that offset that. It's one of the few ways they convince the mouth breathers that enslavement isn't _really _enslavement.

"Are you okay? I was so worried about you," Jessica lets out in a breath.

I don't respond, instead I wrap my arms around her, my face falling on her shoulder.

"Bella?" she questions anxiously.

I now know she can feel the warmth from my tears that soak into her new pull-over robe. For the first time since opening my eyes this morning, the severe weight of the previous night hits me. I relive it. Cullen's overpowering presence within the shade of pure darkness. The pain of my icy blood curdling unnaturally beneath my skin. The haunting, and very real possibility that my actions may lead to the death of my best friend, who's currently comforting me.

But more so, I cry because despite the increased value of what I have to lose, I _still _want to escape; so badly that I consider unforgivable and gut-wrenching things. Despite the circumstances of this situation being better than expected, the thought of living the remainder of my life in yet another cage doubles me over. I'm not meant for it. I will go insane doing the same monotonous thing day after day to be readily available should Cullen ever need me. Hatred reignites in my veins. I _need _to leave. If only to die a miserable death on my own time, I _need _that time.

But I can't lose Jessica.

She strokes my back, consoling me, which fills my heart with even more shame. I leave the comfort of her shoulder and put distance between us. For the first time, a wedge develops between us as real as the walls of Nightingale. Our biggest difference, the one we never needed to acknowledge because our friendship was so strong, is creating a fork in our lives. If only she wanted to be free like me. If only I could be as content as her.

"What happened to you?" she prods in a whisper, pushing hair out of my face to better look at me.

"_I'm happy to see you,_" I say in French, faking a smile.

She smiles as Angela approaches saying, "Bella, what happened? Everyone has been..." she looks around the room uncomfortably. The other supply units quickly turn their attention elsewhere and my eyes find my eyebrows again. Why does everything have to be so dramatic?

"...worried," she finishes, quieter now. "Apparently being summoned so early on is very unusual. And when word got around that you were in the infirmary, everyone thought the worst."

_Great,_ I think to myself, looking around again as the idle chatter restarts across the room. _If I wasn't popular in conversation before, I definitely am now. _

Even though all other gazes have left mine, one pair of blue eyes still have the audacity to linger, bitterly. Anaya's.

"29734," Anaya hisses my number from across the room. "Now that you're done slacking off, it might be a good time to scrub the troughs."

The other supply units wrinkle their noses with disgust—a few of them even gagging a little.

"The troughs?" I ask.

Angela enlightens me with a begrudging definition, "The bathrooms."

* * *

"Oh my." Jessica gasps.

A putrid waft fills my nose and burns my eyes. I cover my mouth while muffling an apology to my companions.

"The faster we do it, the faster we can forget it," Angela sighs, picking up her pail that's loaded with an off-colored sponge, a bar of yellow soap, and a scrubbing brush with gunk on the ends. I'm grateful for Angela's optimism. Right now, "forgetting it" is enough of a motivator. For some reason, right now all I want to do is sleep and never wake up again.

The toilet troughs are literally troughs made of wooden "X" beams and steel landings. The steel is old and rusted, and most of the beams are water damaged to the point of rot—though I doubt water has ever been the culprit. It's clear that the cleaning will not accomplish much—since the stench of sewage is most likely burned into the walls—but we at least give it a good effort.

"So, Lord Cullen actually bit you?" Jessica asks off-hand to me. Angela looks my way briefly before going back to her scrubbing. As soon as I look her way, Jessica's eyes drop to my neck.

"Oh, yeah. They have vaccines now, apparently."

She nods. "The others told us. They said vampires prefer to bite, but apparently Lord Cullen rarely does."

"That's surprising." I roll my eyes. "Let me guess, he bites when he's mad?"

She chews on her lip uneasily. "Usually when he doesn't have time to wait for the kortrastet to pour, actually... but I guess that would make sense, too."

Jessica switches from sponge to brush. "So, you thought you were going to turn into the _fallen _all the way up until he did it?"

"Yeah. Ended up looking like an idiot and passing out after begging him to kill me instead," I say, shaking my head at myself as I recall that moment. It's one of those moments that will pop into my brain in the dead of night to remind me of how lame I am.

"_Wait, you can beg?_" Jessica speaks French to me and gives me an incredulous look.

"_Shut up._" I laugh, smiling through the horror of getting some foreign substance from the trough on my hand.

"What was that?" Angela pipes up.

"What?" Jessica replies.

"Those words you said."

"You've never heard us speak French, before?"

"French?"

"It's my native language," I explain, none too enthusiastically. "From my hometown in France."

Angela's mouth drops. "You're a free-roamer? I didn't know human colonies still existed!"

I nod, and softly reply, "Who knows, mine could have been the last one."

I'm sure she can see by my face that I have no interest in discussing the topic further so she changes course. "Will you teach me French? I'd love to be in on the jokes, too."

"Of course!" Jessica squeals before I even have a chance to think through the question. She's excited, as usual. I bite my tongue as she back pedals. "Well, if Bella is okay with it? It's really her language to share after all." They both look to me.

"Yeah, that's fine," I lie, aching as a piece of my exclusive friendship with Jessica cracks beneath the pressure of social courtesy. Angela might be a great friend if I give it a chance, but then again, she might have a knack for sabotaging nice things like so many others. I shrug.

_If she takes Jessica from me, that's less guilt for me to feel when I escape. _

As the thought leaves my brain, I instantly regret it. My emotions go numb and the walls lift around my heart. I can't help but think that maybe I'm too sensitive. Too cynical.

_Jessica won't ever leave me,_ I think to myself, trying to choke the root of a deeply planted, blossoming fear. _If she does, then that's life, and shame on me for believing any different._

* * *

At the chime of the second hour, we filter into the cafeteria hall to wait in line for dinner's meal tickets. The new supply units are last, the oldest first. So Anaya is the first to move through line, standing as if she owns the world. I guess she might as well own ours. In such a small world beneath ground, it's like a miniature Volterra. A couple rule the top and control the rest with just enough leverage to keep the others subdued, no matter the poverty or discontent.

She gives me a side glance and—what a bitch—smirks. Jessica is ahead of me, complaining about how much her arms hurt from stirring the bucket of synthetics, while Angela comments on the disgusting smell of the troughs. We talk away the hearty smells and impatience for food until finally, Jessica reaches the front of the meal ticket line. She holds out her time-card reluctantly. I observe as the old female vampire analyzes it with a scowl.

"I'm afraid you need at least four hours of work to receive a quarter portion," she explains, handing back the time card. "Maybe tomorrow."

Jessica's bright features sullen somewhat, leading me to step in.

"Wait. You mean she can't eat today? Erm-madam?" I ask, facing the large woman.

"That's right. She only worked two and a half hours today. They can count toward her hours tomorrow for ration tickets, but she will not be awarded any today," she proclaims with a voice growing more menacing. "Any other questions?"

I frown, about ready to give this lady a piece of my mind before Jessica pulls on my sleeve, whispering, "Don't do anything stupid, Bella. You're on thin ice already."

Suddenly I remember Cullen's threat, and I shut my mouth. Jessica continues, "And she's right, I worked very few hours today. I understand the system. It's my fault."

Jessica smiles before leaving the line to go find a spot for the three of us to sit. The compact dining hall is lined with concrete slabs for tables and carved stones for chairs, many of them empty. I turn to Angela who trades her eight hours worked for half a meal ticket.

"Angela, why didn't Jessica work with you all day?" I ask.

She studies me for a moment, returning her thoughtful gaze to her time card and half a meal ticket. "Well, she didn't want me to say anything but… she had been so worried about you—thinking you had died or something—that she was vomiting. Emi called Demetri to escort her to the infirmary, and I guess when she realized you were there she sat and tried to wait for you to wake up."

My heart clenches in my chest. I pull the five ration tickets that Caius had given to me from my sash, ripping one in half and handing it to Angela.

"Take this," I say, my mind elsewhere. "Working that long, you deserve a full-portion."

Her mouth drops. "Where did you-?"

But I don't stick around long enough to hear the end of her question. I march to the next checkpoint in line where the tickets are traded for food. A red-haired vampire looks over me.

"...Good evening," she says. "What have you to trade?"

I open my palm near my chest, unintentionally revealing the four and a half count of ration tickets to the woman. "Two portions, please," I request, holding out two of the tickets, uncertain if I'm doing it right.

Now her stare is full-blown skeptical, but she smiles warmly. "Sorry dear, only one full portion per day. Wait a minute, you couldn't be..." She breaks her train of thought, thinking to herself for a moment before completing the question, "... supply unit Z-two-nine… oh, I can't remember. The one who stood up to Lord Cullen at the Distribution?"

Now it's me that gives her a questionable look. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I recall Demetri's secretive nature when retrieving us from the _fallen_ reservoir at distribution. For the first time, I find myself questioning the motives behind that secrecy. I decide to play ignorant.

"No, I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," I lie.

"Oh? Forgive me… my dear friend is a dorm mother at Nightingale and she told me this rumor of an undomesticated supply unit who disgraced our honorable leaders, even that of Lord James." She continues her lingering gaze, expecting some sort of reply.

"I'm sorry to say that you must have heard a false rumor, my lady. I don't think I have it in me to do such a foolish thing." I may have called myself foolish, but my apparent talent for lying carries me through seamlessly.

"Ah." She sighs, disappointedly. "I really should stop listening to all of that nonsense then."

I nod, solidifying my stance. "I'd rather be burned to death than test any leader of Volterra."

She bursts out in a fit of chuckles before turning toward the kitchen. "Yes, yes. Well, me too. If I could burn."

_Was what I said really that funny?_

She laughs her way to the food trays while I shoot Angela a quick glance, creating a visual statement for 'What the hell was that?' Angela shrugs, but looks to be pretty confused, herself.

Soon, the red-haired vampire is back with a tray full of delicious food.

"Well here you are. I hope I didn't offend you by jumping to conclusions," she says, a look of formulated guilt stitched across her brow.

"No, no, of course not, my lady," I say.

"It's Victoria." She grins.

"Oh, um, Bella," I smile, taking my leave from the window as she nods.

_What a strange vampire._

While on my way to the concrete table that Jessica has picked out for us, an unusual weight lands in my gut. In light of that previous conversation, I wonder.

_Did Cullen purposefully sentence me in front of the crowd at the Distribution, only to recover me later on when less eyes were watching? But, why would he? Because my sewage-like blood would go to waste? Because of the worth of "unique features" to his collection?_

I'm beginning to doubt such shallow reasonings for his actions. To salvage someone like me for the sake of beauty that would disappear after a short time—short for vampires, anyway, is a bit difficult to believe. As I near Jessica, I push the thought to the back of my mind, excited to surprise her.

"Hey, this is for you," I say, smiling at her widely and dropping the tray with a clank to scare her.

"How did you get this? You didn't work hardly at all," she says, her eyes growing wider the more the juicy peas, baked potatoes, and honey-drizzled strawberries ensnare her senses.

"Don't worry about that," I say, pushing the tray more toward her so that she knows there's no room for debate. "I've already eaten, and you need to eat, so don't fight me on it."

She eyes me before blinking down at the food—as if she doesn't know what to do with it. Finally, she relents to her instincts and stuffs her face. Angela joins us, sitting next to me and thanking me for the meal. However, she seems extremely uneasy.

"It seems most now know that we are the odd ones out...," she states, nervously looking around the room.

"...You don't have to sit with me if it still bothers you," I mutter solemnly. To my surprise, she looks horror-struck.

"I... I'm fine," she stumbles over her words, clearly embarrassed. There is a moment of tense silence before she says, "I'm not that kind of person. I'm sorry for, you know, everything back then."

Caught off guard, I open my mouth and swiftly close it, averting my eyes elsewhere. I finally manage a small, "...It's okay," before the heavy air lifts from the table.

Jessica's face alights, apparently giddy that the ice between Angela and I finally cracked. I have to admit, I'm not too disappointed by it either.

"Hello girls." The voice of Emi approaches from behind. She struts over with her tray, and with Glera at her side. Emi takes the seat next to Jessica, across from me, while Glera takes the one to my right.

"Is it okay if I sit here, old bunk mate?" Glera asks with a smile, to which I give my signature reply: a nod. She gains points for manners.

"It's Bella, right?" Emi addresses me. "How are you doing? Is it painful?" She touches her own neck in reference.

"Oh, um...," I start off slow, moving my hand to the covered puncture wounds in a copycat fashion. "Yeah, a little... But not too bad now that there's salve on it."

Socializing is nerve-wracking, I conclude, as I find myself severely uncomfortable with everyone watching me.

"What did he do to you?" Glera offers her concern, looking over my neck and torso as if searching for something that might have been misplaced. "We heard you went to the infirmary."

"I just lost too much blood and I fainted."

"Was he... angry?" Emi asks.

"Well, I did make him wait three seconds instead of the usual two," I say.

The girls chuckle. I look at Emi intently. I know what she really wanted to ask.

"Emi, may I ask how you, and Anaya for that matter, knew about what I did at the Distribution?

She tilts her head, slightly taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Neither of you seemed all that surprised when Angela and Jessica showed up." I say, "It was odd that you accepted us with no questions asked, and that you even had red robes for Angela and Jessica waiting for them, even though they clearly belonged to James."

Both Jessica and Angela exchange quizzical glances, suddenly interested in hearing Emi's answer. Glera looks between us. She had seen them in the amethyst dresses too. Surely, she also wants to know.

"Oh!" Emi's voice raises an octave. "I suppose that is s a bit weird. While we've never had something _like that_ happen before, there are always communications in place to warn Anaya who will be arriving or not arriving to the seraglio. Madam Alice gave us a telegram of the first list from the Selection Hall, without the three of you on it, but a little after, she brought us a new one from Lord Cullen himself—which is quite unusual might I add—explaining your arrivals and what to do."

"I see..." I simply fill the silence. A part of me was hoping that her answer would shed some light as to why the whole thing was so hush hush, but it appears that I'm not the only one suspecting things.

"So, if it's not too forward… what exactly is the relationship between you and Lord Cullen?" Emi asks me timidly.

My eyes scan everyone as I try to understand her meaning.

"Um, master and very reluctant servant, I guess?"

"Well, Jessica mentioned you two have a strange history, so…"

I offer Jessica a trite glare and she mouths a quick apology.

I turn back to Emi and smile none too genuinely. "Yes, we do have a strange history."

She raises her eyebrows which inadvertently asks her next question.

_Does she really think-?_ I clasp my hands together and narrow my eyes. "He's a vampire who keeps me here against my will... and I hate him for it. Does that answer your question?"

Every one of them fidget a little in their own way, their eyes darting back and forth from mine to each other's.

"Is that the latest rumor or something?" I ask, annoyed. "I've literally been here for one day."

Emi slides her petite hands along the edge of the table in front of her, tinkering with one of the two circlets on her fingers. "It's just strange behavior… coming from our lord. He usually only summons a handful of his supply units, while the rest primarily go un-summoned, tending to the chores. On top of that, he rarely ever uses his fangs."

I knew the fangs part, but the rest is weird. I scan the room of supply units, hunched over eating their bowls of potatoes, and quickly find that most don't have a red ribbon around their neck or arms: no marks. They've never been summoned before. Anaya has a ribbon around her neck and arm, Emi just around the arm, and then a handful here or there, but they all seem clumped together. In fact, ribboned units are cleaner, hair pinned and lips painted, noses higher in the air than usual. Like they actually form status cliques based on whether Cullen drinks your blood or not. I shake my head. Two, fresh puncture wounds on a new unit must really be a rarity to make everyone think the new supply unit is getting frisky with their master. I gag thinking about it.

"No. There's no truth to that assumption whatsoever," I say, still trying to get the taste out of my mouth. "And I have no idea why he summoned me." _Except to make it clear that Jessica's and Angela's lives were in my hands, but we can leave that part out. _

"Well—," Jessica butts in, looking to me as if asking for permission that I don't give—but it doesn't stop her. "—I don't know if it means anything, but Bella was born into a free-roaming colony. He took her in because he wanted to."

Emi's eyes nearly swallow her face while Angela's shift with unease.

"So that's the strange history." Emi rests her chin on her knuckles.

Glera blinks several times, crossing her arms over her chest.

I nod lightly. Every other supply unit here was probably harvested from Saya's breeding houses, judged for investment on blood type, future beauty potential, and how meek they were expected to be in nature. My being here is especially strange because my blood type is B-, and Cullen tends to stick with O's and A's. My beauty potential is lacking, though I do have the unique features to negate that, I guess. And as for meek in nature? We don't need to go there. I was far from it even back then.

"What was it like? Growing up in a place ruled by humans?" Emi asks with immense interest.

"I don't really like to talk about it," I mumble as dark and bloodstained memories try to resurface, but I bury them expertly, shooting yet another glare at Jessica in the process. I can't be too upset with her since she was trying to help lay everyone's derailed assumptions to rest.

Luckily, Emi digests my words and says nothing more.

"You were brought in by Lord Cullen, himself?" Angela asks quietly. She must have thought a blood scavenging group had rounded up supply units on Cullen's order or something.

"Yeah." I sigh from the tiresome subject. "A poor investment on his part. I'm nothing like what I should be." And it's true. Cullen has saved me several times. I should be grateful, but something holds me captive to the edge of chaos. What is mercy if I'm still in chains? I'm unable to answer that question, so it only solidifies my resolve.

Angela shifts her gaze downward and picks at her food. She's upset. I half expected her to react this way, though I will never understand it. Volterra-bred supply units are raised to desire the eye of their vampire patrons. So, to her, I'm an unworthy and unappreciative recipient of Cullen's sparse attention. In fact, everyone at this table, in this room, even—if rumors spread as they did in Nightingale—probably thinks that. I swallow down a sudden wave of nausea.

Glera uncrosses her arms and shifts toward me. "Well, your luck in evading punishment has been especially remarkable, Bella. And Cullen choosing to accept you despite all of it? You can't blame people for asking questions. You're an anomaly."

I drop my gaze, analyzing the individual sediments of the concrete table.

"So, you all should know that I _do_ hate him...," I pause for effect. Emi, Glera, and Angela all look at me like I have the plague while Jessica continues popping potatoes into her mouth—she's accustomed to my distaste for vampires. "...so then are you assuming he feels differently?"

I suddenly recall him catching me this morning and how he took me to the infirmary last night. Emi offers a shrug, uncommitted to any real answer while the others remain silent. None of them know what to make of it and the thought only sickens me.

Although their opinions influence me to consider every possibility, I still can't fully wrap my mind around this particular idea. Cullen's still blackmailing me after all, like the raging ass that he is.

"That's what Anaya thinks," Emi explains. "Which is why she's not taking too kindly to you."

"I thought so!" Jessica yells in between her bites, which suddenly makes me feel left out of the loop.

"Why would she care?" I ask.

"Because her heart has been set on him," Emi answers quietly. "She's not the only one, but Anaya's _in_ love with Lord Cullen and is really proud of how much he trusts her."

"In love?" I nearly choke on the word, realizing this is the first time I've even heard it used in that way before.

Emi looks around to make sure the topic of gossip isn't in earshot of anyone else. The rest of us teeter on the edge of our seats as she leans in.

"Anaya has always wanted a different sort of relationship with Lord Cullen, but he won't have it. While most of the other leaders find no fault in using their supply units for _other _things… Lord Cullen will not."

"Why do you think that is?" Angela asks.

Emi shrugs. "Master Demetri thinks he's too good-natured, Master Caius thinks he's far too proud. However, Anaya is the oldest supply unit to ever live here at thirty-three years old. She's worked her way to becoming head of supply to win Lord Cullen's heart and… to try and avoid the inevitable."

Oh. To avoid becoming a breeder in Saya's province. A rush of sympathy cools my anger toward her for a split second.

"At that age, she must really be the only one Cullen trusts then," Angela remarks, her eyes falling. "Which is probably why he has avoided sending her to Saya, already. Thirty-three is pushing it, but what a life well-served. I only hope to not get sent there tomorrow, or next week."

The others nod while I purse my lips. I don't get it. I can't not get angry talking about this and here they are, discussing it with tones of appreciation? It makes my vision blur thinking about it. If I don't find some way to get out of here, I'll eventually be sent to Saya, too. There's no way around it, for any of us.

"Well, Anaya has nothing to worry about," I say, finally. "So, tell everyone to stop inflating their gossip."

At the end of the day, I don't care what anyone thinks. I'm going to get out of here one way or another. I study Jessica, the cracks in her posture and face, how the realities of our world have put a dent in her optimistic nature. Maybe there's a way to convince her to come with me. I have to find a way.

"I see. Well, hopefully this will make things better between you and Anaya." Emi smiles at me, awkwardly shifting the mood. "Why don't we all get to know each other a bit more? I can teach you all a really fun card game that I made after dinner, and we can all go to the outer rec area and soak up the first rays of daylight."

"Sounds fun." Jessica smiles after swallowing a huge bite of potato.

She's always been the socialite. Glera and Angela also utter notes of agreement.

"Okay," I say, fidgeting my fingers, but I'm not buying it. Emi has a ribbon and seems established as Anaya's right-hand supply unit. Why would she hang out with us except to try and fish more information out of us—out of me? She'll realize eventually, but maybe socializing with the others in the meantime will be a good step, despite the overwhelming anxiety. Ever since I can remember, I've only had one friend to handle at any given time, and even that can feel like too much. Jessica is only my second that I have ever had, and I met her during year two of Nightingale. My first… was slaughtered that night in Avignon. His name still rings in my memories and throughout my nightmares.

Jacob Black.

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**How are you guys liking it so far? I'm super proud of it! I'm making this into a novel, so if you like it, it might be a stand alone series some day! :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello I'm back :)**

**Chapter 11:**

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_I watch him through my window, lumbering through the streets with his usual treats. The ones he always brings me on market days. This time, however, he also carries a basket. _

_Is it picnic day, too?_

_I hug Jessica, the potato sack doll, to my chest. My mother made her for me when I was born so I've had her well before I can remember. She's my comfort when I'm lonely… which seems to be more often, nowadays. _

_In a couple of minutes, he will be at the front door. I should get out of bed. _

_The room is dense with gray. Gray walls, gray floors. Their only salvation are my attempts to cover them with hues of red and blue. Dyes that were gifted to me on my birthday two years ago. I'd since run out of dyes and only fifteen blocks had been completely filled in. _

_One day, I'll fill them all in, I determine every single morning._

_I drop my feet to the ground, and listen to the echoes of their tap, tap, tapping down the long-arched halls to the bathroom, taking with me the fading, glistening hopes of my dreams. Of the world outside the Cathedral's courtyard._

_Mom calls to me as I finish putting my hair up with a hair stick. "Bella. Jacob is here, darling."_

_"__I know," I call back, putting on my stockings first, and then my black cloak, and then my black boots. I descend the stair-well to the foyer, greeted by the nodding heads of our servants. Mom is at the doorway near the guards, talking to Jake. She sees me and turns._

_"__It seems Jacob brought you breakfast today, so you two will be heading to the courtyard?" She says with a smile as sweet as raisin-bread. Her strawberry hair bounces as she stands up straight, dressed in a long, brown dress. Jake smiles up at me but I can't bring myself to smile back._

_"__I'm sick of the courtyard," I say as blunt as my father, and my mother's smile drops. "Can we please have breakfast on the outlook?"_

_"__Darling, it's so dangerous up there," she says, interlacing her fingers together. Jacob looks between the two of us._

_"__I'll be careful, I promise," I say. "I really want to watch the performers in the market. I can only see them from up there."_

_My mother opens her mouth to tell me no, like she always does, when Jacob interrupts. "Madam Swan, I'm sure it will be okay. I will make sure nothing happens to her."_

_Mom glances down at him for a moment before shifting her weight side to side._

_"__Um, well… Alright."_

_I leap into the air. "Yes! Thank you, Mom."_

_"__But just this once. Be very careful." She raises her finger at the both of us._

_"__We will be," Jake assures. "Let's go, Bella."_

_He runs to me in his trouser leathers and tunic, handing me the bag of goodies while keeping a tight hold on the picnic basket. _

_"__You're a lifesaver," I say beneath my breath. He chuckles and leads the way to the back door of the cathedral._

_The huge wooden doors give way to bright sun and baby blue sky. Clouds rest in the tops of the sycamore trees, scattered about like cotton tufts. The outer courtyard is brimming with river stone walkways and candied plants blooming various colors of the mid-shower rainbows. The bees buzz by and the river taunts us with its crystalline sheen. It's just warm enough for a picnic atop the coveted outlook to the inner city._

_Jacob leads the way. _

_"__Remember, stay far away from the edges," he instructs, "or your mother will kill me."_

_I laugh. "You got it."_

_Climbing dozens of stone steps is a nightmare in itself, but worth the view. Once we make it to the height, I run ahead to catch the brass railing between my palms._

_"__Wow. Look at it," I yell._

_"__Bella!" Jacob jogs up from behind, pulling me off the ledge. "Really? After what I just said?"_

_I shrug. "I'm not frail on the outside, just on the inside. That's what father tells me, anyway. I'll be fine."_

_"__Anyone could fall. Even me," Jacob replies, sitting me down and opening the picnic basket. "...Not just people who are sick. Here."_

_He hands me a sourdough loaf and a plate of cream cheese with yellow onion. My mouth waters, although the bustling city streets beyond the railing win my attention. Dancing gypsies and men dressed funny doing tricks with cards and balls line the roads that are filled with people. If only I could be right in front of them like the rest of the children._

_"__I knew you might like that one." Jacob eyes me and points to the man doing tricks. "So I got these for you."_

_He hands me the paper bag with a paper-wrapped parcel inside. I stare at it for a long time before carefully untying the string. The surprise in my hands unfolds to a deck of cards with hand-drawn jesters on them. I smile wide._

_"__This is wonderful. I love it." My chest caves with longing as I return my gaze to the streets that stretch to the horizon._

_"__You know, this may not last forever. The doctors have said—"_

_"__That it will probably clear up before I'm thirteen," I turn my face and snicker. _

_He chuckles. "You know, then?"_

_"__Yeah, but it's so far away."_

_"__Only four years." He spreads cream cheese on his rye._

_"__I can't even remember being alive four years ago." I wrap my cards back up slowly before stuffing the sourdough so far in my mouth that I have to open chew for a bit._

_He laughs. "At least you have the best view in the entire city."_

_"__I suppose. What was Mr. Henry like today? Bitter and cranky as usual?" I had never met Mr. Henry, but Jacob would talk about him every day that he stopped by. He was the milkman of the town, a service needed almost every day by the military boys under William Black—Jacob's father._

_"__Yeah, same old Mr. Henry."_

_I nod and contemplate a little. "Do you think he cries tears of milk?"_

_"__Maybe," Jacob taps his chin with his finger. "Or maybe he pees milk."_

_We crack up laughing. Pee is always funny._

_I place another ring of onion on top of my cream-cheesed bread and take a big bite._

_"__Have you been practicing?" Jacob asks, and suddenly the day seems grayer._

_I look down into my lap full of crumbs. "No."_

_"__Bella..."_

_"__What? I don't want to think about it." If I have to think about Essence Dissonance, then I have to think about the_ things _I'm hiding from. The _things_ we all are hiding from._

_"__You have to, though. Just in case."_

_"__I... I don't want to."_

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**Thanks for reading :)**


	12. Announcement

Hi guys, it both pains and excites me to say this... but I have to discontinue this story on the account that it's now an official novel.

I had originally written this as its own story... and after not getting picked up by a publisher or agent (despite getting really close), I decided to post it here. After the amazing response and support from you guys, my close friends, and family, I decided to try self-publishing...

Well... things are going even better than expected... I made a top 10 list on Goodreads already... and my book (the very book you've essentially been reading) isn't set to _actually_ release until December. I do hope that you will continue to support me even outside of the Twilight world, as I'm doing everything on my own... if you'd like, you can find it on Goodreads under A Violet Fire by Kelsey Quick.

Thank you for everything thus far, and I'm sorry to have to cut this story short, I do hope you have enjoyed getting an exclusive look at it. :) This book is currently up on NetGalley until November 30th, so if you want to read the entire thing ahead of time... that's an option. :) Please feel free to reach out and talk to me if you want!

Much love,

Kelsey


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